Foes of the Past
by Lirenel
Summary: Faramir and Eowyn are happily married and visiting King Eomer of Rohan. But a dark force lies in wait for them, determined to destroy Faramir and all he loves.
1. Chapter 1

Hello again! Sorry for the wait, the last few weeks have been busy. Welcome to the third and final sequel to "Faramir's story"! If you haven't read "Faramir's story", you can read the synopsis in the beginning of "Fell Wound", the first sequel. Thank you to everyone who reviewed my other stories, you are the best! And again, I've had to use those break lines to separate scenes which is really annoying. I hope it doesn't bug you too much.  
Beware the fact that Evil Skittle wrote most of this story. Good for Faramir-angst-lovers, bad for Faramir.  
Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Éomer glanced anxiously out of the window for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. He sighed at the empty plain. 'Where are you two? I am going mad!' The King of Rohan turned back to where his advisors were arguing over every little thing imaginable. Éomer shifted slightly in his seat and rubbed his head. He had called the meeting for that morning knowing that his sister, Éowyn, and her husband, Prince Faramir of Gondor, were going to arrive in the middle of it. 'And they're late. I don't know if I can handle any more of this squabbling!' 

A servant leaned over and whispered in the King's ear. ''My Lord, your sister and her husband have entered the city." Éomer quickly turned his head and looked out the window in time to see the rearguard of the White Company, Faramir's personal guard, enter the Gates. He smiled, relieved. 'Thank the Valar.' Trying not to grin maliciously, the King rose to his feet.

"My pardon, gentlemen, but it appears that my dear sister and her husband the Prince of Ithilien have arrived. The council is dismissed." Éomer wasted no time in bolting out of the room as fast as was considered polite. As soon as his sister entered the Golden Hall, he pulled her into a tight hug. "It is wonderful to see you Éowyn! You do not know how much I have missed you." Letting her go, he enthusiastically shook his brother-by-law's hand. "Thank you for coming Faramir. It is always a pleasure to have the Steward of Gondor here."

Faramir eyed Éomer. "You had a meeting with your advisors again, didn't you." Éowyn laughed at the King's sheepish smile.

"Well, yes. But I am glad to see you. Come, let us get something to eat." Éowyn's eyes lit up. She was famished from the trip and felt like she could eat an entire wild boar herself. The King of Rohan led them to the small dining hall and ordered the food to be prepared. As the servants scurried to work, Éomer sat at the head of the table, Éowyn at his right with Faramir sitting next to her. The King smiled as he watched them 'furtively' shift their seats so that they were closer together, Faramir's hand finding his wife's. 'Two years of marriage, and they act like it is still the first week.' The food was served and the three piled food onto their plates. Éomer was surprised when Éowyn bypassed her favorite, roast quail, in favor of a potato on which she heaped large amounts of gravy, butter, and... blackberry preserves? Faramir made a face at his wife's choice of toppings. Éowyn just smiled and dumped a spoonful of preserves on his wild boar.

Éomer laughed as Faramir retaliated by pouring a large amount of pepper on Éowyn's strange concoction. She took a tentative bite. "You lose, love. This tastes quite good!"

"Sister, I am surprised! You were always such a picky eater as a child."

Faramir shook his head. "Recently she seems to have taken quite a liking to blackberry preserves. She puts it on everything!"

"Not everything, dear. I have yet to try it on spinach and I have no intention of ever eating that dratted vegetable, with or without blackberries." Éowyn glared and her brother and Éomer grinned, remembering her one and only experience with spinach.

"But sister, you turned such a lovely shade of green! How was I to know that you wouldn't like having a worm with your spinach salad? And I still have not forgiven you for flattening Squiggles.

Faramir choked on his wine. "Squiggles? You had a worm named Squiggles?"

Éomer cheeks reddened. He had not meant to mention the pet worm he had had as a child. "Um, so how is Ithilien?"

They accepted his change of subject, though Faramir vowed silently to find out about the Squiggles incident later. "Ithilien blossoms under your lovely sister's care. Her hand has brought much healing to the land."

Éowyn lightly shoved him. "Do not place all the praise on me, husband. You work just as hard as I do, perhaps more so. Killing orcs, planting trees, all in the day's work for the Prince of Ithilien."

Glad to have the focus away from him and Squiggles, Éomer leapt at the chance to question his brother-by-law. "You have had many trees planted? Does not Ithilien already have too many?" As a horseman who loved the open grasslands, trees were something of a nuisance. One could not gallop around trees, and if one could not go into a full gallop, one could not fight the enemy well. It was a feeling shared by most of the Rohirrim.

"Not only does he have trees planted, he plants them himself! I swear, you nearly gave that poor old woman a heart attack when she found out that her Prince had helped turn the ground for her orchard."

"Is it my fault that she took me for a gardener?"

"Yes, because you insist on dressing like one. Perhaps if you were more proper, you wouldn't be mistaken for a commoner."

Faramir leaned closer to his wife. "You wouldn't like me if I was a proper nobleman."

Éowyn smiled and also leaned closer. "You would be politer."

"You wouldn't like me polite."

"You are right." Their heads came nearer and they were about to kiss when Éomer suddenly became embroiled in a coughing fit that broke the two apart. They smiled sheepishly and returned to their meal. Éomer picked at his roasted quail, not hungry anymore. He felt a little bit jealous that his sister had found love and was happily married while he was still alone. Though there was no lack of maidens eager to be Queen of Rohan, Éomer had yet to fall in love and it hurt to see others so happy. The King shook his head to clear his thoughts. 'Do not dwell on these things. Enjoy your time with your sister, and be happy that she has found someone to share her life with, even if you have not found someone yourself.'

* * *

Night had fallen. Eistavar crept along the shores of Snowbourne River into the dark forest of Puvarjo. His eyes darted nervously from tree to tree and his hands shook with dread. The man looked older than his thirty years, aged by fear and darkness. Eistavar came to a large obsidian rock and knelt, his head touching the moist ground. Suddenly, black shadows loomed over him and he shivered. "What news, rat?" sneered a deep masculine voice. Eistavar cowered in unhidden fear. "Speak!"

"M...my lords. Th...the Prince and h... his wife are in Edoras."

"They suspect nothing?" inquired a second male voice, lower than the first and more menacing."

"N... nothing, m... my lords. They suspect nothing."

Eistavar could feel the first man's evil grin. "Good. We attack midmorning, they will not suspect a thing. Rohan will be mine! King Éomer will pay for his uncle's cruelty."

"And I will have my revenge on the General's murderer." Eistavar shuddered at the hatred in the second man's voice.

"Yes, the Steward too will pay. But what shall we do about the White Lady?"

The second man shrugged. "She is useless. Have the men kill her." At that moment he seemed to remember Eistavar. "Leave, rat. Go back to your home. But should you warn anyone of what is to come... well, you know what will happen." Eistavar trembled as he rose to his feet, running away as fast as he could to the sound of evil laughter.

* * *

(Lirenel is unavailable for comment. Evil Skittle has tied her up in a closet and taken over the computer. Her mini-Balrog, Elladen, is currently trying to free her.) 


	2. Chapter 2

Hello again! I think this is a faster update than normal.  
Reviewer Responses  
_Forever Faramir:_ I really can't answer you without giving away the story, which should tell you something. Sorry, but Faramir will get hurt. That is just the way Faramir-angst is.  
_Elenhin:_ Elladen thanks you for your suggestion and is trying that right now. Unfortunately Evil Skittle is in possession of a mouse, and the oliphaunt is not cooperating with the mini-Balrog.  
_Caroly:_ Glad you like the story! And if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, there is another hint in this chapter. But you won't find out the answer till much later.  
_flowerbee1:_ I'm glad you count this story among the good ones!  
_arwens-light:_ Can't tell you if you guessed right, but it is kinda obvious isn't it? I like Far and Away, but I tend to get befuddled if there are too many chapters in a story. (which is the pot calling the kettle black since Faramir's Story is over 30 chapters) Anyway, a sequel or a totally new story would be great! I can't wait to read it!  
_Wenham-Wonderer:_ Elladen would appreciate any help he can get, thanks.

Hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

"Good morning sister! I hope you had a good night's sleep."

Éowyn glared at her brother. It was early morning and she wasn't feeling well at all. "If I was not feeling like last night's dinner wants to see the light of day again, I'd throttle you." Éowyn pulled her cloak tightly around her to try and calm her queasy stomach.

"It is your own fault, love." Faramir came up behind her and kissed her cheek. "I keep telling you that eating blackberry preserves with everything is bound to make anyone nauseated."

Éowyn growled. "And after I throttle my dear brother, you are next."

Éomer laughed. "Well then, if we are done threatening death to everyone who speaks, I think it is time for breakfast. Ham, eggs, and porridge, as well as nice juicy sausages.

Éowyn began turning green. "I think I will pass."

"Suit yourself, love. Éomer and I will save some for you for when you regain your appetite. I am sure it will not be long."

Before Éowyn could say anything, the three heard a commotion outside. A small, dark man was arguing with the guards, insisting that he be allowed to speak with the King. "Hold, Ádhelm. I would hear what this man has to say."

Ádhelm, Éomer's doorwarden, bowed and reluctantly permitted the man to speak. "Your Highness, I do not mean to bother you, but my son... he is sick, dying. He is very young, sire, not even past his sixth year. I have heard of the healing powers of the White Lady who is visiting with you, and I have come to beg for her help. I am a poor farmer and can not pay much, but I would gladly give all that I have if she would heal my son."

Éowyn's heart went out to the farmer. She turned to Éomer. "Brother, I will go and do what I can. I do not know if I can help, but I must try."

Faramir frowned. Something wasn't right. "Éowyn, I don't know..."

"I do not feel like eating breakfast this morning. You and Éomer eat and I will be back before lunch." She leaned up and kissed her husband. "Make sure there are plenty of blackberry preserves. I love you."

Faramir tried not to melt at his wife's touch. "I love you too. Be careful."

Éowyn smiled. "You are too overprotective, I can handle myself." Faramir gave her a stern look and she sighed in resignation. "Very well, I will bring a few guards with me."

After a small argument in which she agreed to take Captain Beregond and four others of the White Company, Éowyn followed the farmer out of the city. They were on foot, but Éowyn didn't mind. She thought the walk would be good for her. After a short while, Éowyn struck up a conversation with the farmer. "I am sorry, sir, but I have forgotten what you said your name was."

"I did not say." He hesitated and Éowyn smiled to encourage him. "I am a dairy farmer near the Snowbourne River. My name is Eistavar."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Farmer Eistavar. I hope I can help you." He gave her a strange smile and they continued walking in silence.

* * *

Only a few short miles out of Edoras, the small party reached a large clump of rocks. All at once, Eistavar stiffened. "What is it Farmer Eistavar?" 

Fear grew in the man's eyes and he began trembling. "Hide!" he hissed at Éowyn at the guards before diving behind a large rock. Though puzzled, the others were quick to follow suite. Suddenly, all around them they heard the sounds of hoofbeats and the heavy footsteps of men. Yet they saw nothing but rising dust. Éowyn felt a cold darkness wash over her like an ocean wave and she shivered despite the summer heat.

All of a sudden the air rippled in front of Éowyn, and to her horror, men in black uniforms appeared out of nowhere, on foot and on horses. Horns blew and the sun glinted off steal blades as they were unsheathed. It was an army, numbering in the hundreds, perhaps thousands, and headed for Edoras. As the dark calvary thundered towards the city, Éowyn let out a cry and leapt to her feet only to be tackled to the ground by Eistavar, his hand covering her mouth. Beregond, the Captain of the White Company, tensed beside Éowyn, watching helplessly as the dark army broke through the Gate, the soldiers of Edoras caught unaware and off-guard. Éowyn lay numbly on the ground as the enemy swarmed her city like ants devouring a dead animal. Soon Edoras was completely surrounded by the dark army, the city itself infested by the unknown enemy. Another horn blew in triumph and the soldiers cheered. Éowyn's heart sunk, knowing the horn could mean only one thing. Éomer had been captured as well as the rest of his household. Including her husband. 'Faramir!'

The attack ended just a quickly as it had started. The rumble of horses and the yells of men had ceased, and Eistavar gently let go of Éowyn who stood up shakily, in shock at what had just happened. "My Lady we must go. They will scout the area and find us. We need to be away now." His words put fire back into Éowyn's heart and before anyone could stop her, she punched Eistavar in the face, sprawling him on the ground.

She pulled him up by his shirt. "You knew they were there, that is why you hid! You knew this was going to happen, yet you did nothing! Who are they, what do they want? Why did you not say anything before, why this lie about your son?"

"Please, my lady, I couldn't do anything else!"

"Couldn't do anything else? You could have warned the King about the attack."

The man trembled and his voice was only a whisper. "No... no nothing else could have been done. They would kill me, they will kill me for this."

Éowyn lowered her voice. "Who is 'they'?"

"The masters."

"Your masters?"

"Y... yes. They want revenge, they want the King and the Steward."

Éowyn's blood boiled. "Then why did you not warn them? You left them to die!"

"N... no, no! Th... the dark masters will not kill them, they want revenge. They said that death would be too easy. No, the King and Steward's lives are safe for now. B... but not yours, not yours. They have no use for you, they said they would just kill you. But I... I didn't let them. I got you away."

Beregond gently pulled Éowyn's hands away from Eistavar's neck, where they were heading. "My lady, he may have useful information. For now, we need him alive. And he is right, we must leave now."

"Leave? Faramir and Éomer are captured and you say we must leave?"

"My lady, we are too few to attempt to rescue them. We must seek the help of King Elessar."

Éowyn reluctantly agreed, then glared at Eistavar. "Very well, but I swear, if either of them die because of your cowardice, I will kill you with my own two hands."

* * *

Short chapter, but it was a good place to end. I hope you liked it! 


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry about the long wait. I've been working on an NCIS fanfic and haven't had time to post this. Lirenel has recently been freed thanks to the wonderful reviewers who sent their help. Unfortunately, Evil Skittle is still on the lam and influencing the fanfic _way_ too much. If you have any information on her werabouts, please contact Lirenel through the review box. Thank you.

Reviewer Responses  
_Raksha the Demon_ I can neither confirm nor deny your guess. Please keep reading to find out.  
_Forever Faramir_ Ack! Not the butterflies! 'runs and hides behind Elladen' Here, here's an update!  
_Rosie26_ I like Beregond as well. I wish they had put him in the ROTKEE.  
_arwens-light_ Again, I can neither confirm nor deny your guess. I also don't know any of their kids names for sure, though I think popular support says that they had a son named Elboron. I think their grandson's name was Barahir. I'm also really enjoying your new story, so please update!  
_Mysterious Jedi_ Your wish is my command!  
_flowerbee_ I almost had that happen, but I didn't want Éowyn to get hurt. Thanks for your support!  
_Elenhin_ Oh very painful. It wouldn't be angst without a little pain, now, would it? I'm glad you like the story.  
_Wenham-Wonderer_ Thank you for Hibby, he was very helpful. And thank you for your support.

* * *

King Éomer and the rest of Edoras had no warning of the attack. Guards on the city walls cried out in amazement and terror as a dark army appeared out of thin air, charging and breaking down the Gate before anyone could move. Éomer and Faramir were eating breakfast when the warning horn blew. They ran into the main hall in time to watch the doors fly open, revealing a company of black-clad soldiers and the dead bodies of Ádhelm and the other door guards. Neither the King nor Faramir had their swords with them and could do nothing as the soldiers surrounded them. They watched, stunned, as two men rode their horses into the Golden Hall. Both wore black uniforms, one with the symbol of wolf, the other with a symbol consisting of two entwined blood-red circles. The man the Éomer mentally called Wolf dismounted and walked up to the King.

"We meet at last Éomer son of Eomund, heir of Theoden the Cruel." Éomer glared at the man, angry at the insult to his uncle, but Faramir laid a hand on his arm to keep him from doing anything rash. "It will be a pleasure seeing you rot in the dungeon as I rule your country." Wolf smugly backhanded the King of Rohan, leaving a red mark on his cheek.

Blood-red also dismounted. He was a tall man, taller than Wolf by a few inches, though Faramir nearly matched his height. His raven hair fell stiffly around his pale face. But his most obvious feature were his eyes, crimson with gold lightning streaking across the irises. "Now Mustayo, surely you will do more to him than just keep him in prison." Blood-red's voice, while softer than Mustayo's, was at the same time more evil. "What kind of revenge is that? It should be more painful, don't you think? After all, his uncle caused you great pain."

"You are right, Pelatarn. Yet somehow, I feel that anything I think of will be nothing compared to what you have planned for our little Steward here." They both laughed and Faramir felt a glimmer of fear at the men's obvious cruelty and darkness.

"What do you want with us" demanded Éomer.

Pelatarn grinned maliciously. "We want revenge. Mustayo for his family's death, I for the death of my friend at the hands of the Steward."

"And just who is this friend you say I killed"

"Surely you remember, little Steward. Lokir is a hard man to forget."

Faramir's eyes widened in recognition. "General Lokir" Lokir had tried to assassinate Aragorn after the War of the Ring and Faramir had been forced to kill the General.

"Yes. The General was as close to me as a brother and _you_ killed him. And now you will pay" Pelatarn raised his hand and made a shoving motion. Faramir felt himself go flying backwards into a pillar, falling to his knees from the force of the attack. Pelatarn made another motion, pulling Faramir back into the circle of soldiers.

Mustayo smiled at Pelatarn's display of power. He turned to the captain of the soldiers. "Take them to the dungeon." Éomer and Faramir's hands were tightly bound behind them and the soldiers pushed them down to the cells beneath the Golden Hall.

Faramir winced as a soldier shoved his back where a bruise was beginning to form from his encounter with the pillar. He and the King were thrown non-so-gently into a large cell, the iron bars slamming behind them. "Éomer, I think we are in trouble."

Éomer sighed in agreement. "At least I ordered the dungeons made a little more comfortable. This is my second time here in three years."

* * *

Éowyn glowered at Eistavar the whole journey to Minas Tirith. The small company had 'borrowed' some horses, intending to return them later, but desperate to quickly bring news of the attack to King Aragorn. Now Éowyn was sharing a horse with one of the guards of the White Company while Beregond rode with Eistavar in order to keep her from wringing his neck. All seven of them sighed in relief when the great white city of Minas Tirith appeared. Spurring the horses into a fast trot, they entered through the north gate and hurried up to the Tower of Ecthelion where Aragorn held court. After seeing that the horses were taken care of, Éowyn hurried into the Tower, past the surprised guards, and up to the throne where Aragorn sat.

The King of Gondor was startled to see Éowyn, disheveled and dirty from the journey, nearly running towards him. 'Something is very, very wrong.' Aragorn quickly dismissed the others in attendance, though Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and Imrahil's daughter, Lothiriel, stayed. The Prince had a sinking feeling that his nephew, Faramir, was in trouble. The King frowned as he saw that Éowyn was followed only by five of the White Company, including Captain Beregond, as well as a skinny, dark man whose hands were bound behind him. Aragorn walked down to Éowyn and the others. She had a frantic look in her eyes. 'And the White Lady does not show her worries easily.' "Lady Éowyn, what has happened"

"Edoras... the attack... it all happened so fast." Éowyn's fear and worry found its way to her voice, and to her frustration, tears began welling.

"Éowyn, what attack? What happened"

She took a deep breath. "Edoras was attacked and overtaken by an unknown army. I do not know who they are or anything about them. I was outside the city when it happened because of falsehoods told by this man." Éowyn glared at the dark man.

Aragorn shook his head, unable to deal with this sudden news. "Was there no warning of attack? Surely the Rohirrim could hold back even a large army until Gondor was informed and came to help."

Éowyn looked helplessly at him. "There was no warning. In fact, the army seemed to appear out of thin air, like they were invisible."

"Invisible" asked Imrahil skeptically.

"The lady speaks truthfully." Beregond spoke up. "We could not see the army, though we did hear them. And this rat, Eistavar, knew they were coming." He threw the man forward. Eistavar cowered beneath Aragorn's kingly gaze.

"You did not warn Rohan of this impending attack? It would seem that you are in league with this new enemy, yet you saved Lady Éowyn. Why"

"Th... they were going to kill her, my lord."

"And 'they' would not kill King Éomer and Prince Faramir"

"N... no, my lord. They want revenge. It would not b... be in their interest to kill them. B... but they don't need Lady Éowyn. I saved her, saved her life, sir."

"Perhaps. But for now, you will tell us what you know. Tell us everything and we may be lenient on you. Captain Beregond, help him to the small conference room." Aragorn called a servant as the others filed out of the room. "Bring Queen Arwen to the conference room. I think she should be part of this."

* * *

Éowyn collapsed into a chair, weary from the journey and from concern for her brother and husband. Lothiriel sat next to her. The oldest daughter of Prince Imrahil, she was younger than Éowyn by only a few months. Though Lothiriel had only spoken with the White Lady a few times, she felt a deep kinship with her, namely through their common bonds. For Lothiriel loved her cousin Faramir dearly, and had always looked up to him. 'And now he is in danger. That little rat-man is dead if I get my hands on him.'

Arwen entered the room and sat next to Éowyn. She gently squeezed Éowyn's hand in reassurance. The Aragorn sat down. "Now, Eistavar I believe? Start at the beginning and tell us everything, or I will hand you over to Lady Éowyn. I am sure she would be happy to put you out of your misery."

Eistavar fidgeted in his seat. "It... it began a few months ago, maybe a few years. I have lost track of time. I w... was out of work and needed money. This man came up to me with a job offer. The promise of a well-p... paid job overcame my uneasiness about the fellow. He led me to a place in Puvarjo forest where I met 'them'." He shuddered at the memory of his 'employers'.

"Who are they"

"I'm not quite sure. They called each other Mustayo and Pelatarn, but I don't know what their real names are.

"What do they want with Éomer and Faramir" demanded Éowyn.

"I... I think Mustayo just wants power, though he hides it under the guise of revenge."

"Revenge for what" asked Aragorn.

"During the battle of Helm's Deep, in the Great War, his young son was forced to fight under King Theoden's order. He... the boy was killed and his wife died from grief. B... but I really think he just wants to rule Rohan."

"What of this Pelatarn"

Eistavar visibly quaked at the thought of Pelatarn. "H... he is an e... evil man. He works with dark magic; that is h... how he turned the army invisible. Mustayo is in charge, but I do not f... fear him as I do Pelatarn."

"But what does he want"

"Revenge. Pure revenge for his friend's killer. Revenge on the Steward."

Aragorn leaned forward. "And who was his friend"

"I... I think he called him Lokir. General Lokir."

Arwen gasped. "The assassin who tried to kill Aragorn and Faramir"

Aragorn spoke softly, trying not to show his fear for his friends. "You said he does dark magic. What is he going to do to Faramir and Éomer"

Eistavar shook his head. "Not Éomer. He does not care about the King. He just wants the Steward."

Éowyn's eyes darkened and she glared menacingly at the man. "What. Will. He. Do"

"I... I do not know for sure. I h... heard him say s... something about u... using the Steward's own m... mind to break his will. B... but it didn't make sense. W... what memories could break a man's will"

A strangled gasp caught in Éowyn's throat and a pale Arwen hugged her in a vain effort to comfort her. Aragorn's heart plummeted. He remembered the suffering boy who became a brother to him, the grieving man that the boy became under a hurtful father. The others in the room who knew of Faramir's past also had horrified expressions on their faces. Aragorn sat back in his chair. "What memories could break a man's will? Memories of things no person should ever go through."

* * *

Hmmm, Evil Skittle must have stolen my keyboard. Please hold while I try and retrieve it.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the long wait. With work and sweeps-month on TV, I've kinda been ignoring my poor readers. Please forgive me. On the plus side, I finally got the keyboard back for Evil Skittle so now for a very nice, non-angsty chap… hey! Get back here. Oh dear. Evil Skittle stole the computer again. My apologies, but the non-angsty chapter has now been replaced by Evil Skittle's minions, the Mountain Dew gang.

Reviewer Responses

_Wenham-Wonderer _Can I borrow Hibby again? The MD gang won't let go of the mouse.

_Forever Faramir_ I'm glad the Lokir thing worked. I was worried it would be too thready a connection. Thanks for the offer of butterflies, but I'm afraid Evil Skittle eats butterflies for lunch. Any other options?

_lindaholand_ thank you. Blame Evil Skittle.

_arwens-light _Thanks for reviewing! Sorry for the wait. (Of course, I'm still waiting for an update so fair is fair D) Yah, All I came up with is Barahir as well, so that means we are free to do as we like. And for what you said about Éomer…I swear, you must be reading my mind. That's all I'll give you, sorry.

_steelsheen _This is the last sequel I'm afraid. I was going to do a series of prequels, but I don't have enough time and I have a huge case of LOTR writer's block that doesn't seem to be going away. So I hope you enjoy this last story.

_flowerbee _Evil Skittle wishes to inform you that she does _not_ taste good. I have to agree. Thank you for reviewing.

_Elenhin _You plan probably would work, except right now she has the real computer and wouldn't go after a fake one. I'm starting to think she's one of those smart evil people, which bodes ill for Faramir. Thank you for the compliments, they really mean a me. And don't worry about people thinking you look like an idiot when you burst out laughing at the computer. My family thinks the same of me. So you're in good company.

_cleasmile _Lirenel may be released in time for the end. There is really no telling, though. And good insight on Eistavar, that was what I was going for.

_Andi_ I'm going to have to say no to no more cliffies, since at the moment Lirenel is tied up and Elladen has his hands full with the Mountain Dew gang. As for a happy ending, it all depends on your definition of "happy".

_the evil witch queen _For the foreseeable future Faramir will not be happy. And as for your other questions…You'll have to read to find out. Thanks for reviewing.

_Rana Ninque_ Hmmm, I like the names Faramir series. Short, but exactly what it is (although this has a lot more Éomer in it). Thanks for your support.

_Voldie on Varsity Track _Thanks, but I can't tell you.

Well, since the response to reviewers are longer than the chapter, I'll be nice and add another today as well. Thank you so much for your reviews!

"So, Éomer. Now that we are here, stuck for who knows how long, you have the time to tell me about Squiggles the worm." Faramir laughed at Éomer's dismayed look.

Éomer glared at his brother-by-law when he realized that Faramir was just kidding. "Very funny. I think our time would be better spent trying to escape."

"Unless you remembered a way out in the last three days since we have been here, I see no reason why we can't lift our spirits with embarrassing stories of your childhood. Well, at least lift _my_ spirits."

"How about stories from _your_ childhood. Surely your life is much more interesting then my unusual choice of pets."

Éomer wondered at the strange look that came over Faramir's face, but the look was quickly replaced by laughter. "I am sure nothing can compare to Squiggles's story. Especially since it is the apparent cause of my wife's hatred of spinach."

"I am afraid the talk of vegetables must wait until later, little Steward." Faramir and Éomer stiffened as Pelatarn entered the cell followed by four of his dark soldiers. "We have finally identified all the corpses from my army's little attack, and it seems that the body of a certain White Lady is missing. Now, either it is disfigured beyond recognition, or she somehow escaped my little trap. The latter, I think. Do either of you wish to tell me, or do I do this the hard way?" Both remained silent, neither wanting to give this man anything he wanted. "The hard way then." Pelatarn motioned to his soldiers. Two grabbed Éomer's now unbound arms, while the others pulled Faramir over to Pelatarn, forcing the Prince of Ithilien into a kneeling position. Pelatarn stood close to Faramir, his crimson eyes sending shivers up the Steward's spine. "Well, little Steward, I think it is time you and I had a heart to heart talk. Or should I say, _mind to mind_!"

Without warning, Pelatarn seized Faramir's head between his hands, staring deep into the Prince's eyes and soul. Éomer watched in horror as tendrils of endless darkness spread from Pelatarn's hands to wrap around Faramir's head. The Steward could not hold back a cry of dismay and pain as he felt the darkness take control of his mind. Faramir both felt and saw Pelatarn search his memories. The day's events flashed through his mind as if they were happening at that moment. Pelatarn stopped when the dark farmer convinced Éowyn to leave the city. Faramir had felt uneasy at the time, but now he was only relieved. 'He saved her life. At least she can safely get to Estel.'

Pelatarn frowned, recognizing the man in his employ. "So the rat betrayed me. I will have to... arrange something for him." He let Faramir go, and the Steward's mind snapped painfully back to the present. Pelatarn left with his soldiers. Éomer walked over and knelt beside Faramir, who held his head between his hands.

"How do you feel, Faramir?"

Faramir just groaned in response.

Lothiriel sat sullenly in her chair as their father, King Aragorn, Lady Éowyn, and Captain Beregond argued over what course of action to take. 'This is taking too long! It has been five days since Faramir's capture and we have yet to do anything! Who knows what those monsters are putting him through!' The Princess of Dol Amroth was not a patient person. When people compared her to her younger sister, many thought that Lothiriel was the quiet, calm daughter, for she was pale and dainty in appearance. (At least that was what polite people said. Lothiriel just thought she was short.) Though her eyes and hair were brown like her mother's, she had her father's facial features including his somewhat elvish gaze. Her sister on the other hand, was tall, strong, and had their father's coloring. Yet she also had Imrahil's pacifistic temper, while Lothiriel took after Freyaniel in that she was quick to anger, stubborn in her grudges, and had little patience. But whereas her mother controlled her temper, Lothiriel was constantly being held back by her father and patient younger sister.

In fact it was because of her obstinate attitude that she knew at all about her evil uncle Denethor and how he had abused and nearly killed her favorite cousin. When her father had returned a few years before, after being summoned to Minas Tirith by Steward Denethor, she had overheard him telling Freyaniel that it lightened his heart to see Faramir smile after all he had suffered at his father's hands. Lothiriel had burst into the room demanding to be told what had happened. Though both Imrahil and Freyaniel refused to tell her at first, they finally gave in after she threatened to go ask Denethor himself, for they knew their daughter well and knew that she would go talk to the Steward no matter how rash it seemed. Since then, Lothiriel had ever hated her uncle and had not mourned his passing.

Lothiriel was pulled back to the present by a scream from Eistavar. "No! No!"

King Aragorn stood. "What is wrong?"

"He has found out! Help me!" The small man fell to the floor, clutching his head. "Help me! Help..." He shuddered and lay still.

Imrahil leaned over and felt for a pulse. He shook his head. "He is dead." Everyone in the room stared at the body in shock.

Arwen looked at her husband. "What kind of monster are we facing."

Aragorn stare grimly at the body. "One who must be stopped at any cost."

Hehe. Don't worry, I'm posting another chapter today.


	5. Chapter 5

For my wonderful reviewers (Elvish will be in all italics, memories in bold):

"My back hurts." Faramir rolled his eyes slightly at Éomer's obvious understatement. On the fifth day of their capture, Mustayo had paid them a visit. This time it was Faramir who was restrained as the dark man lashed Éomer's back. Now the Prince washed the whip-marks with water provided by Mustayo. 'He just doesn't want Éomer dying of infection before he gets his entertainment from our suffering.'

"Maybe next time you should not insult his mother. That seemed to anger him."

"How was I supposed to know he could understand ancient Rhovanion? Besides it was not a really bad insult, I know worse." Faramir rolled his eyes again. "I do! I could have called her... "

Faramir held up his hand. "I will take your word for it. Just, try to keep quiet. We only have to last until King Elessar comes."

"When do you suppose that will be?"

The Steward of Gondor thought for a moment before answering. "He will do nothing rash. Uncle Imrahil, I believe, is in Minas Tirith and will council the King to raise a good-sized army before any attempt at attack is made. It will take anywhere from a few days to a few months."

Éomer groaned. "Great, a few months in here. I will go mad from boredom."

"Are you saying I am boring?"

"What? No... I mean, no you are not... I did not... " Éomer looked over his shoulder and saw Faramir's grin. He groaned again. "I hate when people twist my words."

"I am sorry."

"No you are not."

"Alright, I am not. It is too much fun, and I do not want to be bored either."

Their laughter was cut short when Pelatarn and his dark soldiers entered the cell. Crimson eyes leered down at them. "I see Mustayo has been here. Poor Éomer. It does not seem fair to me that you are hurting and the little Steward isn't. I will have to remedy that." The soldiers roughly pulled Faramir away, Éomer held back as he had been the first time.

Pelatarn clasped Faramir's head and grinned. "Now, you will be a good boy and obey me, or else."

"Or else what?" Pelatarn's thumbnails dug into the Prince's face as he turned Faramir's head to where two new soldiers stood. One held a dark whip, the other wielded what seemed to be a blunt mace. Faramir understood instantly what 'or else' meant.

"Shall we begin?" Pelatarn yanked Faramir's head back to face him, and again held the Prince's gray eyes with his own crimson ones. The dark tendrils snaked out of Pelatarn's hands and invaded Faramir's mind, drawing him into memories of past horrors.

Faramir gasped as he recognized the first time his father had hit him.

He felt his head snap backwards as Denethor harshly smacked him. "Clumsy fool! That was your mother's favorite vase! I can't believe you are so stupid that you cannot even see a table when it is right in front of you! You little half-witted idiot!"

Faramir began breathing hard as he tried not to listen to his father's words, but it felt so real that he had to struggle to stay apart from it. He was right. snarled Pelatarn in Sindarin so that only Faramir could understand. You were a clumsy fool then, and you still are.

Faramir beamed up at his father, having hit the archery target for the first time. Denethor glared at him. "That was pitiful; Boromir hit the target far faster than you." The Steward stormed away, leaving a crestfallen little boy.

You were never good enough. You always failed him.

No. Faramir cried. The man with the whip answered his master's unspoken order and began lashing the Steward.

Your father hated you because you are incompetent, unfit to be his son!

No! I will not listen to you. Again the whip came down, this time harder.

You know I speak the truth!

Faramir was breathing hard from the pain. You... lie! The soldier with the blunt mace whammed his weapon into the Steward's stomach. Faramir reflexively bent over, but his head was still in Pelatarn's grasp and it was wrenched backwards. The mace then hit his wounded back and he cried out in pain.

Éomer struggled against his captors to no avail. "Stop it. Stop it!" His own pain forgotten, the King of Rohan could only watch helplessly as his friend went through worse torment.

Finally, Pelatarn stopped his soldiers and grinned evilly. He pushed Faramir away, the Steward landing hard on his bloodied back. No wonder your father hated you, you are a spineless weakling! I have no doubts that if he were here, he would be helping me! Pelatarn turned and left the cell. "Sleep well, little Steward!" His malicious laughter echoed through the corridor.

Éomer knelt by Faramir who was curled on his side, shaking from the pain. The King of Rohan softly cursed the monsters who had done this to the man who was his brother, not only by marriage, but also in his heart. He didn't know what had been said between Pelatarn and Faramir, because he didn't speak Elvish, but he knew that the dark man's words had hurt Faramir more than the whip.

"Faramir. Faramir, are you alright?" Éomer winced as soon as the words came out of his mouth. 'Idiot! Of course he isn't alright!'

Faramir groaned and painfully moved his head to find where the voice was coming from. His eyes stayed unfocused for a moment before centering on Éomer's face. "Éomer," he gasped out hoarsely.

"I am here, Faramir."

"My back hurts."

Hope you liked the chapter. Also, I don't know if I mentioned this before, but I should probably give you a **WARNING:** There will be a main character death in this story. And villains don't count since that is too obvious. Bwaaahaaahaaa!


	6. Chapter 6

Salve! Sorry about the long wait, I've been busy. Evil Skittle has been distracting me with real life so that I cannot concentrate. Sorry.  
Reviewer Responses  
_lindahoyland _I hope Aragorn rescues them too  
_steelelf _If you want to see me kill Legoals, read my story 'Prince of Eryn Lasgalen'. Legolas does not actually appear in this story. However, like I said, a main character (or characters) do die.  
_Voldie on Varsity Track_ When I read your review the first thing that popped in my mind was "Bring out yer dead! Bring out yer dead" from the best comedy ever, 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail'. Thank you for the smile.  
_Raksha The Demon_ To answer: Yah, I know it should be Elessar, but when I started writing this, I was kinda just decided to go with one name so that people who weren't as well versed in LOTR don't get confused. It pained me to do it. I'm not sure Pelatarn is fully human, I never really go into that. He just learns dark magic in some unspecified place. I thought of Rhovanion to Eomer as Latin is to us. In my Latin class, the first thing the boys wanted to know was how to insult someone. If Eomer learned anything, it probably would have been an insult. And as for the water and soap, Faramir is just doing the best he can with what he has. Thank you so much for your questions, I love answering them. (can you tell?)  
_arwens-light _I'm sorry, but it is already written into the story. Thank you so much for your input, I love talking to you.  
_Elenhin_ Who knows what Pelatarn will do? (oh yah, I do. But I still can't say.) I have already called on the ghost of Squiggles since your suggestion seemed goodly. He and Elladen are currently concocting a rescue mission. Thank you.  
_Forever Faramir_ I can neither confirm nor deny your guess. Please continue reading to find out.  
_flowerbee1_ Darn, I knew I forgot something! Oh wait, there it is. No, that's the ghost of Squiggles. Elladen, what did you do?  
_emoras_ Here's your update!

* * *

"My King, we cannot do anything until we know what the situation inside Edoras is like. For all we know, everyone in the city is dead!" argued Prince Imrahil at yet another council.

Aragorn sighed in frustration. "I know that, Imrahil, but the spies I send keep ending up with their heads stuck on poles on the city walls. They are caught as soon as they enter the gates! Éowyn says that there is a secret way in, but it is too thin for any man to use."

"Then I will go." The whole group turned their heads towards Lothiriel. "The way may be too thin for a man, but from what Éowyn has said, a woman should have no trouble getting in. Moreso, as a woman, I would not be suspected to be the spy."

Imrahil was already shaking his head. "No, daughter, it is too dangerous."

"So was fighting the Witch King, but Éowyn did that!"

"Lothiriel is right." Éowyn spoke now. "We have talked about it and came to the conclusion that we are the only two who can do this."

Beregond adamantly refused to let Éowyn, the wife of his Prince, go into any danger. "King Elessar, you cannot honestly be thinking of letting them go! Lord Faramir would never allow it."

Aragorn didn't know what to think. His heart protested against sending women into danger, but their plan did make sense. Then Arwen spoke. "Estel, you must admit that this is the only plan that could work. There is one flaw, though."

"What is that?"

"It will have to be night when they enter the city. Night is also when walking around the city will be most dangerous for the enemy will be patrolling and there will be no crowds to hide in. Therefore, I suggest that it would be wise for an elf to accompany them."

Aragorn nodded in approval. "An elf would be thin enough to enter through the secret way." He frowned. "But the nearest elves are in Lothlorien and it would take long for any to reach us."

Arwen smiled at her husband. "But there is one right here in this room."

Aragorn blinked. Understanding dawned on him. "No. You are not going."

"You just said an elf would be perfect."

"Not you!"

"I am the right person for this job, and you know it."

Aragorn looked at each of the three women. "You are all determined to do this, aren't you?" Three identical nods. "And you will go through with this plan whether I give you my blessing or not." Again, the three nodded. Aragorn sighed. "Very well. But if you find the smallest hint that you are suspected by the enemy, you _must_ leave the city, no matter what."

Éowyn, Lothiriel, and Arwen grinned in triumph as Imrahil and Beregond continued in their objections. Aragorn shook his head. 'I hope I haven't just made the biggest mistake in my entire life. And I hope even more that Faramir doesn't kill me when he finds out I let his favorite cousin and his wife walk into an enemy-infested city without any protection other than my own wife. Ai Elbereth.'

* * *

Lothiriel silently followed Éowyn to the southwest side of Edoras. Arwen walked next to Éowyn, her footsteps soundless as only an elf could achieve. The three women finally reached the rock wall that went nearly straight up to the top level of the city. It seemed impassible, but Éowyn knew otherwise.

A small crack in the wall hid the secret entrance. When viewed from a distance the crack looked like just that, a small crack. But closer inspection revealed a small crevice in the rock, large enough for the women to squeeze through. Éowyn leading the way, the three women scrambled up the hidden incline to the top of the city, right behind the Golden Hall. "We must make for my friend Hild's house. We will be safe there," Éowyn whispered.

The three women walked as softly as possible in the direction Éowyn had told them. "There it is," hissed Éowyn. But as she started forward, Arwen pushed her and Lothiriel closer into the shadow of a house. Though startled, neither woman spoke, trusting Arwen's eyes and ears above their own. This was fortunate, because a squad of enemy soldiers passed closely by and they would have been spotted had they not stopped. 'Thank goodness for elf senses.' As soon as Arwen gave the all-clear sign, Éowyn motioned them forward.

Taking a deep breath, the White Lady of Ithilien knocked softly on the door using the special knock she and Hild had used as children. No answer. Looking at Lothiriel and Arwen, Éowyn asked with her eyes whether it would be safe to knock louder. Arwen nodded after a moment, as did Lothiriel. 'Please be home and safe Hild.' Éowyn knocked louder. A moment passed, then suddenly the door opened, startling all three of them. "Who is it?" came a soft female whisper.

Éowyn sighed in relief at hearing her friend's voice. "Hild, it is me. I come with two friends."

The door opened wider and a tall woman with long blonde hair stepped out. Looking closely, Hild's eyes visibly widened. "Éowyn? Is it truly you?" Éowyn nodded and Hild's blue eyes filled with tears as she hugged her friend. "We thought you were dead!"

Though Éowyn was happy to see her friend, she knew it was imperative not to stay outside. "May we come in, Hild?"

"Oh! Yes, please, come in." After closing the door behind them, Hild went to the table and lit a candle. The light illuminated the small, two-roomed house. The four women sat down on empty barrels at the small wooden table. "The children are asleep in the other room. It has been hard on them, this captivity, especially with their father... " At this, a sad look appeared of Hild's face.

Éowyn's heart broke for her friend. "Ádhelm is dead then." Hild nodded. "Oh, Hild, I am so sorry."

Like most of the women of Rohan, Hild did not let her grief show. "He fought bravely against the invaders, defending the Hall until the end." Hild then changed the subject, unwilling to break down in front of guests. She had cried enough already. "But tell me, what are you doing here? And who have you brought?"

Éowyn realized that both Lothiriel and Arwen still had their faces covered by their hoods and motioned for them to show themselves. "My cousin by marriage, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth," Lothiriel nodded her greetings. "and Arwen, Queen of Gondor." Hild's eyes widened, not as much from the fact that the Queen of Gondor was sitting on a barrel in her home as the elf's innate beauty. "As to why we are here, we have come to find a way to free Edoras." Éowyn's face drew tight as she thought of her own personal mission. "And to free my husband and brother should they still live."

Hild nodded. "As far as anyone knows, the King and your husband are yet alive, though imprisoned in Meduseld's own dungeon. At least, that is the hope that is held in our hearts."

When Éowyn did not say anything, Lothiriel spoke up. "Can you tell us exactly what happened? We know very little."

"No one saw the army before they were right at the gates. The sentry's had no time to give a warning before we were overrun. Many of the men tried to fight them off, but we were unprepared and... not many survived unscathed. It seemed like only a moment before the city was completely occupied. The leaders, Pelatarn and Mustayo, rode into Meduseld and took the King captive themselves."

"Has there been no word of the King or Faramir?"

Hild shook her head. "None."

Seeing that both of her companions were now deep in thought, Arwen took up the questioning. "How have the people been faring?"

"As I said before, many of the men were injured, some killed. Those left have been placed under house arrest. The rest of us have been harassed in the streets so as we can only walk in groups and the children cannot play outside. But the worst part... the worst part is the enemy soldiers." At this Hild looked sickened.

"What of the soldiers?"

"They...they are dead."

* * *

And…..I think I'll just leave it there. Hope you liked. 


	7. Chapter 7

First off, my sincerest apologies for being so late in updating. I also hate to say this, but I will not have a lot of time to update anytime soon so I think I will probably just post the rest of the story today. I have truly enjoyed writing it, and I hope you have enjoyed reading it.

Reviewer Responses  
_Mysterious Jedi -_ Here's more!  
_arwens-light – _Getting into the city is only part of the struggle (grins evilly). I've enjoyed talking to you through reviews. I don't know if I'll be able to write anything else after this, but I hope you keep it up so we can still talk. God bless you.  
_lindahoyland –_ I really enjoyed writing Lothiriel and the rest of the women, since they don't have such a big part in the books.  
_Elenhin –_ Your support has helped Squiggles and Elladen triumph over Evil Skittle and her minions. However, Squiggles in now too weak to fight the dead soldiers after his hard struggle (Ok, actually he found a nice dead lady-worm and is busy planning the wedding). Tell your computer to relax, the updates are here!  
_emoras – _here's your update!  
_steelelf –_ Sorry, I still cannot tell you who dies. And actually, it's more than one person. Sorry. (grins evilly)  
_SeeStar –_ The Rohirrim are very alive, though the poor people just can't see to get a break.  
_the evil witch queen –_ They aren't the Army of the Dead, they're an army of dead people. Think more like zombies than green ghosts. Can't tell you who dies, sorry.  
_ForeverFaramir –_ Eomer and Lothiriel haven't met (yet). But I'm sure Aragorn will still be in a lot of trouble with Imrahil if anything bad happens to her.  
_Voldie on Varsity Track –_ Agh! You get to see Spamalot! I'm so jealous! Lucky!  
_IceAngel7 – _You shall see, my dear. You shall see.  
_deblanko –_ Thanks for your compliments. I don't know if I'll get to write anymore fanfics in the near future, even the whole Elrond series I had planned. (sigh) I wish there were more hours in the day.  
_The Mortal Elf –_ Ack! Here! (throws chapter at The Mortal Elf) I hope that satiates your hunger, especially since I am going to try and finish this up today.

* * *

Arwen, Éowyn, and Lothiriel looked at Hild, puzzled. Finally, Lothiriel spoke. "What do you mean 'dead'?"

Hild looked at them helplessly, as if she did not understand either. "They are either dead or ghosts. At first, we had thought them Rohirric deserters for they wore the emblems of the Mark. But their faces…were dead, rotten." The others looked at her, horrified. "I... I even saw Gram, my brother." Tears again appeared in Hild's eyes. "You remember him, Éowyn, you saw his body after the battle. We buried him, we buried all of them! And yet they are here, walking around, oppressing their own families."

Éowyn shook her head, unable to comprehend this. "There is no possible way it could be them!"

"It is them. It is their bodies, their faces. But you can see the decay from years in the ground and their eyes... their eyes are dark, soulless. There is nothing there."

There was silence as the women thought. Finally Arwen proposed an idea. "That Eistavar, he said that Pelatarn used dark magic. We saw it ourselves when Eistavar died, and Éowyn saw it used to hide the army. Perhaps Pelatarn does not just use the magic for concealment and killing, but also... to raise the dead. Not their souls, for those pass beyond this world, but raised their bodies. Use the dead to fight the living."

Lothiriel's brown eyes blazed. "That is despicable! How dare he disturb the dead! Desecrating the graves of those brave, honorable men, how dare he!"

Arwen laid a hand on Lothiriel's arm to calm her down. "Remember, the children are asleep." Turning to Éowyn, the elf said, "We must get this information to Aragorn. One of us should return to Minas Tirith." Both Éowyn and Lothiriel had the same 'I am staying here no matter what so no use even asking me to leave' look on their faces, which was really what Arwen was expecting. So by process of elimination, Arwen was elected to return.

But when Hild suggested that she leave the next night, Arwen adamantly shook her head. "Aragorn will need to know for sure if Faramir and Éomer are still alive. That has to factor into the battle-plan."

"Some have tried to gain entrance to the Hall, but none have succeeded."

Éowyn even admitted that she did not know a way in. "All entrances would be guarded, and there are no secret ways in or out."

"Yes there is." Four heads turned to the doorway to the other room. A little blonde boy of about ten stood there in his nightshift. "I know a way in."

Hild's eyes widened. "Fréaláf, go back to bed! This is a grown-up conversation."

A little six-year-old girl with blonde curls peeked from behind her brother. "But Mama, we can help!"

"Sigel!"

Éowyn raised her hand, commanding silence. "Hild, obviously they have been listening to our conversation." She smiled slightly. "It reminds me of two little girls I knew once, doesn't it my friend?" Hild looked sheepish at the reminder of her youth and nodded her consent for Éowyn to question the children. "Now Fréaláf, and Sigel, what way do you know of?"

Fréaláf answered. "There's a small tunnel that leads straight to the dungeon. We found it playing hide-and-find last year. I think it used to be a drain, but then Éomer King did something to the prison and it was boarded off at the palace end. Sigel and I never told anyone, it was our secret place."

"And we didn't go into the palace either," added Sigel in a stubborn voice, daring the others to accuse them of wrongdoing. Éowyn didn't pay that any attention, though. Her mind was busy thinking up a plan.

* * *

"Be careful, all of you," cautioned Arwen. It was near noon and Hild, Fréaláf, Sigel, Éowyn, and Lothiriel were heading out to instigate Éowyn's plan. Arwen could not go with them for she was too noticeable, so she was going to stay hidden at Hild's house. Hild and Sigel were going to try and buy food at the market like normal, while Fréaláf would lead Éowyn and Lothiriel to the abandoned drain.

Lothiriel smiled and answered in accented Rohirric. "We will be careful, do not worry."

Hild rolled her eyes. "I would not speak outside these walls if I were you, unless you actually want to be caught." The children giggled and the other women had to stifle giggles of their own, though their laughter was more nerves than anything.

So off everyone but Arwen went, trying hard to remain calm and not give themselves away. Éowyn and Lothiriel had spent the morning making themselves look more like common women of the Mark, especially Lothiriel whose dark hair was more unusual, and certainly more eye-catching, in Rohan. They solved this by putting her hair up in a scarf. Éowyn, on the other hand, was known to most Rohirrim and they could not take the chance that anyone would call out to her. After a long debate, Éowyn conceded to having mud streaked through her hair and splattered on her face and clothes to make it seem like she had fallen into a mud puddle. If anyone got past the stink of the mud, her face would be covered enough to be somewhat unrecognizable.

Partway to the market, the group separated. So far they had not been stopped by any soldiers, and Lothiriel, Éowyn, and Fréaláf got to Meduseld without any problems. Once there, Fréaláf led them to the side of the Golden Hall, into a ditch where the drain lay. He had been right in saying the drain was small. The moment she saw it, Éowyn's heart sank. There was no way she would be able to fit in it, she was too tall.

"Well, I guess this is when being short has its rewards." Éowyn turned and looked at Lothiriel who was smiling tight-lipped. "It will be tight, but I think I can fit." Indeed, Lothiriel was a good half-foot shorter than Éowyn, and slender as well. To Lothiriel's consternation, little Fréaláf was only a few inches shorter than she was. Meaning she was the perfect size to fit in the drain.

Unfortunately, before they could do anything, there was a sharp yet emotionless and monotonous call behind them. "Halt! State your name and your purpose to being near the Hall."

All three turning around at the same time, they found a squad of dark soldiers looking at them. Lothiriel instantly thought up a story, but then she remembered that she couldn't speak without giving them away. Éowyn was too shocked at seeing men she _knew_ were dead giving her orders to say anything. Fortunately for them, Fréaláf had a good head on his shoulders. "Forgive us, sir, but I lost my cat. She ran this way and my cousins and me chased after her."

Apparently the soldier bought it. "Return home immediately, do not look for your animal." Since the squad was waiting, they had to walk away from the drain, away from their connection to Faramir and Éomer. Though she could not spare a look back, Éowyn's thoughts remained on her husband and brother in the hands of an evil necromancer. 'Please let them be all right!'

* * *

Alright, hope you likes it. Chapter 8 coming up! 


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: (( and )) are used to denote when Pelatarn is forcning Faramir to relieve his memories. Italics means elvish.

* * *

Éomer bit back a frustrated, angry groan as Pelatarn opened the cell door again. 'Haven't you done enough! Leave him be!' He and Faramir had only been captive ten days, yet it seemed like forever to the King of Rohan. Éomer had been forced to watch as Pelatarn had tormented his brother-by-law with words and weapons. Exhausted mentally and physically, Faramir rarely said anything, sleeping whenever he could and eating only when Éomer woke him up. Pelatarn had left him alone for the past two days and Éomer had half-hoped that he had forgotten them.

Unfortunately it was not to be. "Wake up little Steward," hissed Pelatarn as he kicked Faramir in the stomach. Éomer could do nothing as Pelatarn again invaded Faramir's mind, trying to destroy everything he was.

(("Again you disappoint me, Faramir. Why is it that you cannot do the simplest thing I ask? Denethor grasped his shoulders tightly, nails digging into him. "You are nothing but a failure, Faramir, and you always will be."))

_Faramir the Failure. It certainly fits._

Faramir hardened himself against both Pelatarn's words and the memory of his father's. _I am not a failure_. Even though he was expecting it, he still gasped from the pain of the blow.

((Denethor glowered as his son stood before him. "I cannot believe you did not protect Osgiliath from the enemy! No, I can believe it. You failed and Boromir had to save you, again. Had it not been for Boromir the city would have been overrun and we would have fallen to the enemy." The Steward's eyes blazed. "You disappoint me, Faramir."))

_Always having to be rescued by big brother._

_No._

_It is no wonder that he had to, you always fail._

Faramir glared back at Pelatarn, anger burning within him. _You may beat me, taunt me, even kill me, but I will never fall into darkness! You will lose in the end_

Enraged, Pelatarn ordered his soldiers to strike without mercy. Faramir's head swam in pain, but he did not give in. Had Éomer not yelled out, "Stop it, you are killing him!" it truly could have meant Faramir's death. Fortunately, Pelatarn did not want Faramir dead yet, and stopped his soldiers.

Standing above the bloodied Steward, Pelatarn smiled. Stretching out a hand, the dark man shot out a bit of black magic. It healed Faramir's serious wounds, yet at the same time binding the Steward more to the dark power that was attacking him. As he left the prison cell with his soldiers, Pelatarn grinned evilly. "You will fall, little Steward. You will fall no matter how long it takes, for I never lose."

* * *

Éomer hated feeling helpless and hated even more watching his friend, his brother, suffer and being unable to do anything to help. He did what he could to clean Faramir's wounds, but he knew that it was only a matter of time till Faramir either broke from what Pelatarn was doing, or died. Éomer shook his head. 'He is not going to die and he is certainly not going to become one of that monster's mindless pawns! Aragorn and Gondor will come to our aid.' He sighed. 'But I do not think we have much time.'

The King of Rohan froze as he heard a strange shuffling noise. It seemed to be coming from behind the wall in the next cell over. 'The drain?' He had briefly considered it before as a means of escape, but neither he nor Faramir would fit in it. His suspicions were confirmed when a hand pushed out the boards that covered the now unused drain. Hiding himself in the shadows, Éomer watched as a dark figure squeezed out of the hole into the other cell. It turned and seemed to take notice of Faramir's shivering body. Giving a stifled cry, it crawled quickly but softly forward, reaching a hand through the iron bars as if trying to reach Faramir.

Acting swiftly, Éomer twisted the arm behind the figure's back and brought his other arm around its throat, pulling it back against the bars. "Who are you and what do you want?" he whispered. For all he knew this was some sort of dark joke either Mustayo or Pelatarn was playing.

The figure stiffened. When it spoke, Éomer was surprised to hear a female voice. "If I am assuming correctly that you are King Éomer of Rohan, than I think Éowyn has been exaggerating your kindness."

Though startled, Éomer did not let her go. "I am being held captive in my own house and forced to watch the torture of my brother-by-law. Kindness is not a priority right now."

The girl paused and when she spoke again Éomer could hear a slight tremble. "Torture?"

"Why should you care?"

Her voice turned cold. "I love my cousin dearly, I would have you know!"

"Cousin?"

"I am Lady Lothiriel daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, you sore excuse for a gentleman!"

Éomer hesitated only a moment before releasing her. She did sound familiar and he remembered meeting the lady at Éowyn's wedding two years before. As she turned around, Éomer found himself on the receiving end of one of her glares. "My lady, forgive me my rough actions. These past ten days have been... hard."

Lothiriel's eyes softened. The man in front of her certainly looked like he had had a rough time. He was shoeless, wearing only trousers, his hair and beard scraggly, and his eyes showing the suffering he went through. "I understand, King Éomer." Then she looked down at Faramir's motionless body and her anger rose again. "What have they done to him?" she demanded.

The King grimaced. "I am not completely sure. There is some sort of dark magic the leader, Pelatarn, is using against his mind. So far, Faramir is resisting but has been hurt terribly as a result. Today was the worst. I do what I can, but he may not last much longer if this keeps up." His chocolate brown eyes found her cinnamon ones. "Is there any plan from Gondor that we should prepare for?"

The sad look in his eyes made Lothiriel's heart skip a beat. She wished she could give him the news he wanted, but she could not. "Not as of yet, my lord. We were sent by King Elessar to observe the situation in Edoras. Arwen leaves tonight to report back to Minas Tirith."

"Please, my lady, call me Éomer."

"If you will call me Lothiriel."

Éomer nodded, wondering vaguely why he felt so light-headed when this lovely, if dirty and grimy, woman spoke to him. Then he frowned as what she said registered to him. "Wait, Arwen? Aragorn sent his own wife along with the daughter of one of the most powerful men in Gondor into enemy-held territory? Has he gone mad?"

Lothiriel gave him an annoyed look. "We both have warrior training and can take care of ourselves. And besides, Éowyn is here too, as she was the one who brought up the idea in the first place."

How come he wasn't surprised? "How is she?"

"She feels ill in the morning, but I would feel the same way if I woke up knowing my husband and brother were being held captive by a worker of dark magic."

"Your husband let you come too!"

Lothiriel rolled her eyes. "That was hypothetical, Éomer. I am not married."

"Oh." Before Éomer could feel too embarrassed, Faramir groaned, turning both of their attention to him.

Lothiriel reached through the bars to touch Faramir's face but Éomer caught her hand before she could. He again found her glaring at him. "Why did you do that?"

"I told you that Pelatarn seems to invade his mind. We cannot risk that Faramir know you are here, he does not seem to have any control over what Pelatarn sees."

Though upset, Lothiriel agreed that it was for the best. He questioned her about his people and his sister until she realized that she had stayed too long. "I should go now." She gave one more look at her beloved cousin. "Farewell Faramir." Before reentering the drain she gave the King of Rohan a formal nod good-bye. "I will return again. Until then Éomer." And she was gone.

Éomer smiled. "Until then, Lothiriel."

* * *

Lothiriel tried not to think about the tightness of the drain. 'I hate small spaces, I hate small spaces, I hate them!' Ever since she could remember, Lothiriel had never liked being in tight quarters. Though she lived by the sea, she rarely sailed because of the little room onboard the ships. The only reason she had agreed to go into the drain was that she was the only one who could. She loved her cousin too much to let her phobia keep her from helping him.

So as she crawled through the drain, Lothiriel kept her mind busy by thinking about King Éomer for she felt that thinking about Faramir would bring her to tears. 'Humph, some king, attacking the person who was trying to help him. Then again, I didn't exactly make an appointment.' She rubbed her throat, thinking about how scared she had been as the strange arm had encircled it. 'He is certainly still strong, that should be helpful if he is able to escape. Not too bad looking either.' Lothiriel frowned and began arguing with herself. 'Not bad looking? First of all, it was somewhat dark and I couldn't see him well. Second, he was dirty, unshaven, and might I add rude. Well, only at first when he didn't know who I was. The beard wasn't that bad either. And those eyes... That's it, think about something else. Like what I am going to say to Éowyn.' She tried not to wince at that thought.

The sun was setting as Lothiriel walked back to the house. Careful not to pass any enemy soldiers, she arrived just when Hild was setting the table for supper. The moment she stepped in the door, Éowyn came over. "Did you get in? Did you see them? How are they?"

Hild placed a calming hand on the White Lady's arm. "Let her sit and rest. Supper is ready anyway." Sigel and Fréaláf were already sitting and waiting eagerly.

Lothiriel had barely eaten two bites when Éowyn insisted she tell them what happened. The Lady of Dol Amroth looked over to the two children, happily munching on their bread. She could not give details in front of these innocents. How could she tell Fréaláf that his hero the king was running out of hope? And if she told Éowyn about how bad it had gotten for Faramir... Lothiriel suppressed a shudder. No, she would have to soften the details. "Both are alive, though I do not think they are getting enough food. And their captors are certainly not being kind to them. At first they were upset that we came, but they were relieved that a plan was in motion. Of course, they give you their love, Éowyn."

She looked around the table to see if they bought the very watered-down version of the story. By the somewhat relieved looks on Hild and Éowyn's faces they did, but one look at Arwen told her that the elf could see right through the deception. 'Later.' Lothiriel promised the Queen with her eyes. 'I will tell you later.'

Later came sooner than Lothiriel thought. Soon after Sigel and Fréaláf were sent to bed, Hild followed, tired from the tension of the day. Since it was Éowyn's turn to clean up (the three had decided to help with the chores while they were staying at Hild's house.), Arwen went outside alone to set out for Minas Tirith. Lothiriel quickly followed and found the Queen waiting for her a few feet away. "Arwen." She paused, deciding how to continue. "Arwen, I may have exaggerated how well Éomer and Faramir are doing." The elf nodded, having expected this. "Éomer is well I believe, but Faramir... " her voice caught for a moment. "Faramir is not." As Lothiriel described what she had learned, Arwen's eyes grew harder and more worried. "You must tell the King and my father to hurry. It would be best if they set of as soon as you arrive. I do not know how much longer my cousin can withstand this demon."

Arwen nodded. "I will hurry at all speed and urge my husband to quick action as well. Stay out of danger, you cannot help them if you are caught as well." She frowned. "I would advise not telling Éowyn of this unless it is needed. I fear what she would do and my heart tells me that there is more at stake than just her life should she be placed in danger."

"What do you mean by that?"

The Queen laughed, though without a trace of humor. "I am not sure myself. Just, be careful."

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

Éomer winced as he paced the floor of the prison cell. Mustayo had paid him a visit the day before and the King of Rohan had the lash-marks to prove it. But he had not cried out, he felt that he almost had no right too since his pain was nothing compared to Faramir's. 'Thank the Valar that Pelatarn hasn't returned yet.' Éomer hoped that Arwen would get help from Gondor soon, that Lothiriel had conveyed the gravity of the situation.

'Lothiriel. It's a beautiful name, perfect for so lovely a maiden.' Éomer stopped in his tracks as he replayed his thoughts. 'Did I just call that dirt-covered, sharp-tongued woman 'lovely'?' He turned around as he heard a noise from the drain and watched Lothiriel squeeze out. She was just as dirty as she had been two days before, and he could see now that she was a head shorter than he was. But then she looked at Faramir, eyes full of concern and Éomer found that he didn't care. 'Yes I did, and I did not lie. She has a lovely heart. And lovely eyes.'

Eyes that were now looking at him in question. "Éomer, is there a reason you are just standing there?"

"What? Oh, forgive me, I was lost in thought."

"Well please find yourself again. I brought food for you and Faramir."

That caught his attention. They had not been given much and most of it he had given to Faramir, figuring the Steward needed it more. Lothiriel handed him a bundle, which he opened to find bread, cheese, and... 'I could kiss her!' He looked at the small sweet-cake and smiled. "Thank you deeply, Lothiriel."

She shrugged. "Éowyn made the cake, and the bread and cheese are from Hild and her children. I am just a deliverer."

He knew, of course, that Éowyn had made the cake. In Rohan, sweet-cakes were given only to members of one's family. But he did not want Lothiriel to feel unimportant. "You still deserve thanks, Lothiriel, because without the deliverer we would be without the food no matter who it is from."

Lothiriel surprised herself by blushing. 'Stop this, I have gotten compliments from many men, why should I blush from a semi-compliment from a man I barely know?' While Éomer ate, Lothiriel looked at Faramir. He was sound asleep from exhaustion, and she bit her lip at the sight of his torn back. 'Why do these things always happen to him? The scar on his cheek is bad enough, and Éowyn said that he still bears a long scar from when he nearly died from orc poison in Tumbar. It just isn't fair!'

Turning her head Lothiriel found that Éomer was no longer eating, two-thirds of the bread and cheese as well as the whole sweet-cake still left. "Is that all you are going to eat?"

Éomer smiled, but his eyes were sad. "Faramir needs the nourishment more than I."

The Lady of Dol Amroth gave him a smile. "He is lucky to have a friend like you. But be sure to keep up your strength, it will do Faramir no good if you starve." Éomer nodded in agreement. "You need to eat that cake, too."

He frowned. "I was going to give it to Faramir."

Even as he spoke, Lothiriel shook her head. "You said yourself that he cannot know that we are here. Do you mean to tell him that the guards were giving him cake?"

Though Éomer knew she was right, he didn't like it. "It does not feel right to eat the whole sweet-cake myself."

Lothiriel sighed. "Well, then share a bit with me and it will not be the whole sweet-cake."

Éomer's eye's widened so dramatically that Lothiriel wondered if she had done something wrong. But the look only lasted a moment before Éomer just smiled and handed her half of the cake. It was quite good and Lothiriel wondered if she could get the recipe for it from Éowyn.

The King of Rohan couldn't help but look at Lothiriel as they ate. Her request had nearly given him heart failure until he realized that she probably didn't know Rohirric customs. Asking to share a sweet-cake symbolized a request to begin a courtship, but obviously in the south they did things differently. Not wanting to embarrass her, Éomer hadn't said anything and against all traditions and customs had given her some of the cake. He smiled to himself. 'I am only breaking tradition if we don't court.'

Surprised at the thought, he quickly finished the cake and checked on Faramir. The Steward had recently begun muttering in his sleep, but Éomer could only make out one word, which he guessed, was in elvish. Suddenly, the King remembered Faramir talking about the elven blood of his mother's line. Maybe Lothiriel knew what the word meant. "Lothiriel?"

"Yes?" 'This cake is really good.'

"What does 'Ada' mean?"

Lothiriel looked up and Éomer was taken aback at her piercing stare. "Why do you ask?"

"Faramir has been mumbling in his sleep and the only word I can make out is 'Ada'. I thought perhaps it was elvish."

Lothiriel looked at Éomer a moment, looked into his eyes. "How much do you know of Faramir's past?"

The question startled him. "Very little. His father was Denethor, the Steward of Gondor and his brother was Boromir, Captain of Osgiliath, both of whom died in the War of the Ring. He was Captain of Ithilien and distinguished himself in battle. But what does that have to do with my question?"

Lothiriel blinked and looked away. "Nothing. I was just wondering." Standing up she walked to the drain. "Thank you for sharing the cake. I will be back in a few days."

"Wait!" She paused. "You did not answer me."

In the shadows he could not see her bite her lip. "You need to ask Faramir that. Farewell." She disappeared, leaving Éomer slightly stunned. 'What just happened here?'

* * *

'Of all the questions, he had to ask that one!' Lothiriel crept back to the house, unnerved. Of course she knew that 'Ada' meant 'daddy' and that Faramir called his foster father, Lord Elrond, 'Ada'. But if Éomer did not know Faramir's past, she could not tell him without raising more questions. Though she could have just told Éomer the definition, her heart would not allow her to let him assume Faramir meant Denethor. 'That monster does not deserve to be 'Father' let alone 'Ada'!'

Lothiriel was so distracted by her thoughts that she forgot to knock before entering the house, startling Hild who was making dinner. "Forgive me, Hild. I did not mean to startle you."

"That is all right. How are they?"

She decided to tell the truth, if not all of it. "Faramir was asleep, but Éomer was very thankful for the food." Hild smiled as she stirred the stew. "Do you think I could get a recipe for that sweet-cake? It was quite delicious."

Hild dropped the spoon into the stew, burning her fingers as she rescued it, before whirling around to face Lothiriel. "You _ate_ it!"

Lothiriel leaned back in surprise. "Only a bit of it. Éomer shared it with me."

That got an even bigger reaction from Hild. "He shared it with you? Did he offer it to you or did you ask him?" For some reason Hild was grinning widely.

Before Lothiriel could answer, Éowyn walked in from outside carrying firewood. "What is all the commotion about?"

Hild answered. "Éomer shared the sweet-cake with Lothiriel!"

Éowyn almost dropped the firewood in shock. "What!" She turned on the Lady of Dol Amroth. "Did you ask him for it or did he offer it to you?"

Now Lothiriel was getting confused and annoyed. "Éomer did not feel right eating the whole thing himself since Faramir could not have any, so I offered to share it with him to lessen his guilt." As she said it, she winced realizing that she had just let out that Faramir wasn't well.

Luckily Éowyn didn't notice and visibly relaxed. "It is all right then, Hild. She would not know our customs."

"There are customs about sweet-cakes?"

Éowyn smiled at the confused woman. "Sweet-cakes are only shared with family members. It is a very old tradition, and a surprisingly strict one."

"Oh, I am so sorry! I did not know!"

Hild was still grinning gleefully. "That is not the only custom."

The White Lady of Ithilien glanced at her friend. "I was not going to tell her that one."

"But it is important!" Hild turned to Lothiriel. "If a maiden asks an unmarried man outside her family if she can share the sweet-cake and he agrees, it is an initiation of a courtship!"

Lothiriel's face paled, then turned crimson in embarrassment. "What! Éomer...he did not say anything!"

Éowyn took pity on her. "He knows you do not know the custom so he was just trying to save you from discomfort. Do not worry about it."

Hild couldn't resist a little more teasing. "Besides, the courtship is not official until the King asks your father for permission."

"Hild!" Éowyn admonished her friend.

Lothiriel blanched at the thought of her father even hearing about this incident. "I think... I think I am not hungry. I will be outside." She fled as Éowyn and Hild tried desperately to hold back their laughter.

* * *

Aragorn and Imrahil sat in grim silence as the recently arrived Arwen reported to them. It had been especially hard to hear how Faramir was being tortured. The King frowned. 'Trouble seems to plague him wherever he goes. Oh Tir!' To Aragorn, Faramir would always be Tir, his foster brother and friend. 'It is probably best that Ada is no longer in Middle Earth to see this. Yet at the same time I wish he were here.'

Arwen finished with her opinion. "My lords, Lady Lothiriel has said, and I agree, that you must set out at once. There is no time to waste."

Imrahil was in full agreement. "Your highness, the soldiers can be mustered in three days at the most. Captain Beregond will certainly return any time now with the Ithilien Company. I would suggest using them as your command group for they would do anything to save their Prince." He paused. "Even fight the undead."

The King of Gondor shivered. That was the fact that disturbed him the most. 'How can we fight our dead allies? Are they even able to be killed?' "Assemble the army. We leave as soon as possible."

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

The day after the sweet-cake incident, Lothiriel found herself reluctantly crawling through the drain bearing more food (though no sweet-cakes) and medicine. Still embarrassed, she couldn't help but want to talk to Éomer again, and see how Faramir was doing.

Slinking out of the drain, she found Éomer. . . washing his back? Lothiriel has so far managed not to take much note of the King's lack of shirt, but now... She frowned as she saw him visibly tense when the wet cloth touched his back. The frown deepened as Lothiriel noticed that the cloth was coming away with dark streaks on it. "Éomer?"

Obviously she had surprised him, for he dropped the rag and quickly turned his head, wincing at the movement. "Lothiriel! I did not expect you."

Kneeling next to him, Lothiriel reached through the bars and gently touched his back. Hissing from pain, Éomer's body involuntarily jerked away. Pulling her hand back, Lothiriel rubbed her fingers together, recognizing the sticky substance on them as blood. "You are hurt."

"It is not very bad." 'At least not as bad as Faramir.'

"I brought medicine."

His face brightened. "Thank you." Taking it he turned, obviously intent on using the medicinal salve for Faramir, but Lothiriel grabbed his arm. Her touch sent a jolt of lightning up his spine, but it wasn't painful. Ignoring it, Éomer raised an eyebrow in question.

"You need to be treated too."

The firmness in her voice gave no room for protest, but Éomer tried anyway. "Faramir needs it more. Besides, I cannot reach my back well so there is little use."

Lothiriel didn't buy it. "There is plenty enough for both of you and I can get more. As for your back, I can reach it." She realized that she sounded forward and quickly added, "That is, if you are all right with that."

Seeing that it would be better to agree than to argue, Éomer consented. As he treated Faramir, Lothiriel began coating his back with the salve. "Was this Pelatarn's doing?"

Éomer shook his head. "Mustayo. Though I think that it is only because of Pelatarn's influence. I feel that he would rather we just rot in prison."

Lothiriel could sense the frustration in his voice. King Éomer was a proud man, always in charge of his situation. He was a warrior, used to facing his enemies in battle. 'Being captive in this dark cell must be torture enough for a man used to riding through open fields.' Surprising herself, she voiced her thoughts. "I do not think I could handle this as well as you have. This place is so dark and small." She shivered slightly as the room seemed even smaller when she talked about it. "I do not like small spaces."

When both of them finished with the medicine, Éomer turned to face Lothiriel. "You do not like small spaces, yet you crawl through that small drain to get here."

"It...It is not that bad, and I want to help Faramir." 'And you.'

Seeing how discomforted she was, Éomer's respect for the lady rose. To overcome a great fear is hard to do, and yet she had done it for love of her cousin. "Are not the ships of Dol Amroth small as well?"

Lothiriel decided to be blunt. "I hate ships."

Éomer smiled. "A lady of Dol Amroth, the great port city, hates ships? I suppose you dislike the sea as well."

Though he was teasing and she knew it, Lothiriel nodded. "Not as much, but the sea is so salty that even the air sticks to your skin. To make matters worse, fish makes my stomach turn."

The King of Rohan laughed and Lothiriel found herself pleased that she had helped ease his troubles, if only for a moment. Unfortunately the moment was cut short as a sound echoed from the hallway. Someone was coming. "Quickly, Lothiriel, go!" hissed Éomer, shoving the medicine and food into her arms. Lothiriel scrambled back into the drain, pulling back the wood boards to cover the entrance, but instead of just leaving she turned around and tried to see what was happening through the cracks in the boards.

* * *

Faramir groaned as a kick in his side woke him up. He had actually been having a good dream, strangely enough about his cousin, Lothiriel. But Pelatarn had cruelly ended the dream and the Steward found his mind once again invaded.

((Denethor grabbed Faramir's right arm in one hand. "Not fair? Life is not fair. If it was, your mother would still be alive and I wouldn't have such a weakling for a son!" The Steward squeezed his son's arm tighter.))

_Yes that would have been better, wouldn't it? Why would he want such a weak son?_

Faramir refused to listen to Pelatarn._ I am not weak._ The blows fell and the Steward's body screamed in protest.

((Denethor glared at his son. "Life is pain, boy, you need to remember that!" Faramir felt sick as he heard and felt the bone in his arm snap. When he cried out in pain his father backhanded him. "Go away, I don't want to have to deal with you tonight."))

He never wanted to deal with you, you were too weak. _You are still weak, you cannot even fight me_.

_I fight you, I will fight you, and I will win._

Pelatarn's eyes flashed and the undead soldiers' blows fell even harder. Éomer struggled against those that held him back, but as always it was in vain. Finally Pelatarn stopped, and he and his soldiers left. The King of Rohan growled softly in frustration as he tried to clean Faramir's wounds. 'I will kill him. No matter how long it takes, I will kill that monster.'

* * *

Lothiriel could not move at first. She was paralyzed with the horror of what had just happened. Éomer had told her, she had seen the wounds, yet this torture had not seemed real to her until now.

Again, crawling out of the drain, Lothiriel numbly moved to the bars that separated her from Faramir. The Steward's injuries looked even worse to her than before. "By Elbereth."

Startled by the noise Éomer turned, eyes widening when he saw Lothiriel there. "Lothiriel, what... ?" He saw the look in her cinnamon eyes and he knew. "You should not have stayed."

Éomer's sad face unparalyzed Lothiriel. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she started to shake from trying to control herself. "Oh Éomer, I did not know! I did not understand what he went through, what _you_ go through. It is...It is..." She could not finish as tears overtook her.

Éomer hated to see her so upset, hated seeing her crying. Though the iron bars separated them, he reached through and hugged her with one arm as he used to do with his sister when she cried. Lothiriel instinctively leaned closer to him and wept into his shoulder.

Lothiriel was barely aware of crying. Her mind had taken her back in time to when she had first met her beloved cousin.

**flashback**

"Iri! Iri play wif me!" Eight-year-old Lothiriel bolted outside when she spotted her youngest brother in the halls of their home. Four-year-old Amrothos loved his older sister, but he tended to talk too much. And she was already too upset to deal with that.

Lothiriel fled to the horse-field, the one place she could calm herself. As she watched the horses graze she sniffled quietly. Her pony, Roch, trotted up to her and she petted his mane. "No one understands me, Roch! They don't understand that I would rather be riding you than go sailing." She started crying and hugged Roch's neck. "I hate sailing, I hate ships, I hate Dol Amroth and I hate my family for making me stay here!"

"I do not think you do."

Lothiriel raised her tear-streaked face and looked at the handsome stranger. "Who are you?"

"My name is Faramir, and I would guess you would be my cousin, Lothiriel. Your father mentioned that you liked horses."

"I love horses, especially Roch." She hugged her pony for emphasis. "You're my cousin?"

Faramir nodded. The twenty-year-old knelt down so he would be eye-level with his cousin. "My mother was your father's sister. Now, do you want to tell me why you think you hate your family?"

Lothiriel's anger flared. "They won't let me go to Rohan with Da! I wanted to see the horses but Da said it would not be apa..appro…appropriate. He wants me to stay and go sailing with my brothers and sisters, but I hate sailing, especially with my siblings!"

Faramir sat back on the ground and motioned for Lothiriel to sit next to him. When she did, he put a comforting arm around her. "I can understand you wishing to go to Rohan, but at this time your father is right. The sister of the King of Rohan has died, leaving her two children orphans. Your father is going to give Gondor's condolences to the king."

Lothiriel's eyes widened. She hadn't known, though Imrahil had tried to tell her before. "The children are orphans? They don't have anyone?"

Faramir nodded solemnly. "They are going to live with their uncle the king, though, so they do have family."

"I wouldn't want to lose Mama or Da." She looked down, suddenly ashamed of her words before. "I guess I don't hate them, or Dol Amroth." Straightening, she looked at Faramir defiantly. "But I still hate sailing!"

Faramir smiled. "And why is that, Lothiriel?"

The girl smiled, glad to have a grown-up who didn't call her 'little one'. "I don't like ships, they are so small, I feel like I will suffocate!"

"You do not like small spaces then?" Lothiriel nodded vigorously. "I do not like being cooped up either. I would much rather be out riding." Standing up, Faramir held out his hand and helped her to her feet. "Now, my lady, will you do me the honor of escorting me to the house? I believe I should tell your father that I am here." Faramir winked at her as they walked to the house. "Perhaps later you would like to show me Dol Amroth from horseback."

It was then that Lothiriel developed her hero-worship of Faramir. He could do no wrong in her eyes. Even later, when Lothiriel had grown up and realized that even Faramir could make mistakes, she still loved him dearly.

**end flashback**

Lothiriel's heart lightened from the memory. 'I only learned later that he told my father not to make me go sailing. Though I saw him rarely, he always looked after me.' She raised her hand to wipe her eyes. 'Well, Faramir, I finally made it to Rohan.'

"Are you alright now, Lothiriel?" Startled by Éomer's voice, Lothiriel realized that his arm was around her shoulder and that she was leaning against the King of Rohan's chest.

Embarrassed, Lothiriel quickly sat up straight. "I...I am sorry. I did not..."

Éomer put a hand on her arm. "It is alright. Do not be ashamed of your grief."

Lothiriel looked at him. "How can you watch that time after time? I fear I would go mad."

"If this goes on much longer perhaps I will. Watching a brother suffer is worse punishment than anything Mustayo could do." His eyes seemed to pierce her heart with their sorrow. "We must get him out soon."

Lothiriel nodded. "Hild has found a locksmith. He is in the process of making some lock picks for us. Hopefully they will be done soon." Her grief had turned to a fierce determination to save her cousin, and Éomer, from this torture. "We will get you out of here. I promise."

* * *

As Lothiriel talked to Éomer, back at Hild's house Éowyn was chopping carrots for dinner with such ferocity that Hild had decided it would be safer to sew in the bedroom. 'I _hate_ being so helpless! I am cutting _carrots_ for Valar's sake, while who knows what is happening to Faramir!' She wasn't so daft that she could not see that Lothiriel was hiding something about Faramir from her. Though the woman from Dol Amroth had much to say about Éomer, she became closed-mouthed when it came to the Steward.

Éowyn brushed away a tear from her cheek. 'I must be going mad. One moment I am so angry I could kill something, the next I just want to curl up and cry.' Finishing the last carrot, she leaned on the counter as the tears fell. 'I just want Faramir.'

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

Faramir woke to the now familiar pain. He tried to ignore it as he slowly sat up and reached for the food he knew Éomer had left for him. The King of Rohan was asleep, for which Faramir was glad. Éomer would try to make him eat more than he was currently eating and the Steward did not think he could take it. His body rebelled against the food and water, but still he ate to keep up his strength.

'Strength. I barely have any left. Estel, please come soon or I will not be here when you do.' Éomer shuffled in his sleep and Faramir smiled. He had dreamt that the King was for some reason hugging his cousin Lothiriel. 'They would make a good couple. I should talk with Éowyn about that, I bet she would enjoy playing match-maker.' Faramir sighed as he thought of his wife. 'Hopefully she is safe in Gondor. I would not put it past her to propose an outrageous idea to Aragorn, like sneaking into Edoras to try and save us. Luckily Estel would not be so foolish as to approve of such a thing. He knows I would hurt him if he did.'

Éomer woke up as Pelatarn stormed into the cell. Faramir was already awake which annoyed the evil man, for minds were easier to break if caught off guard. "Good morning, little Steward." The soldiers took their regular positions and Éomer had to steel himself against them. It had been a shock when he had first realized that the soldiers were actually the rotten corpses of the men he had fought beside at Helm's Deep.

Pelatarn grinned as he pulled Faramir into the depths of his mind.

((Denethor smacked him across the face. "Idiot boy, do not talk back to me! In fact, do not talk to me at all, I have no patience with you." The Steward stormed off, but not before he could hear him mutter, "Worthless, he is worthless."))

_You are worthless, little Steward._

_I am not._

_You are. You learned that again, did you not? To bad your Uncle stopped him, or your father could have ended your miserable life before you ruined everyone else's._

Faramir's eyes widened. Pelatarn spoke of the last time his father had hit him, the worst time, the time he had had nightmares about for years. 'No, please!'

Unfortunately, Pelatarn discerned his thoughts and fears. _You do not wish to remember that, do you?_ He grinned evilly._ In fact, you try to hide it from everyone, not just me. Well, perhaps the little King here would like to see it, he did say he wanted to hear about your childhood._

To Faramir's horror, the soldiers dragged Éomer forward. 'No! Don't make him go through that, don't make him see!' Even though he had made peace with his past, this memory still triggered a fear in him and he did not want Éomer to have to go through what he did. Pelatarn just sneered.

* * *

Éomer didn't know what was going on. The soldiers just all of a sudden pulled him forward, forcing him to kneel next to Faramir. He tried not to shiver as Pelatarn's crimson eyes turned to him. "How would you like to see what the little Steward does? What he hides?"

"Leave us alone, snake." One of the soldiers rammed the mace into his stomach.

"That was not wise." Pelatarn place a hand on Éomer's head, keeping the other on Faramir's. "Shall we?"

((All at once, Éomer found himself in Minas Tirith, in the Steward's study. Before him, though, was the towering figure of Denethor son of Ecthelion and a small boy who Éomer realized was Faramir.))

"Hmmm. Perhaps you should see closer."

((Éomer was pulled forward, there was a flash of darkness, then to his amazement and horror the King realized that he was looking out though Faramir's eyes. Suddenly the old Steward looked larger and more frightening, a menacing look on his face.

Denethor started yelling at Faramir. "You little disobedient child, how dare you go against my orders! I explicitly told you that you were not to read until I said you could. And yet I find a book hidden underneath your pillow!"

Éomer was startled. 'Why is he speaking so? So what if Faramir read a book?'

"Father I swear, I haven't read anything except for my studies! That is the book I plan to give Boromir for his birthday, I haven't..." a slap kept him from continuing.

The King of Rohan felt the slap as well, though he was too stunned at the fact that Denethor had hit his son to notice.

"Do not lie to me child! Only cowards lie! How could the Valar have cursed me with such a son!" Denethor was now waving his dagger at him and Éomer felt a growing apprehension though he did not know why. Then he realized that the apprehension was not his own, but Faramir's. Not the boy he was seeing through, but the man who was being forced to relive his worst nightmare.

Faramir's calm broke. "Father, please! Why do you not love me? I try so hard and yet nothing I do pleases you! Why do you hate me so? You have never showed me the least bit of love! Mother would be ashamed of you!"

The hurt in the boy's voice combined with the fact that he could feel Faramir's emotion, nearly broke Éomer's heart. What happened next, though, was even worse.

"Love you? Hah! You are weak!" the Steward threw Faramir hard against the wall, breaking his arm. "You are worthless!" The dagger slashed against the boy's cheek. "You do not deserve to be loved!" Both Faramir and Éomer watched in horror as the dagger rose above Denethor's head, ready to end Faramir's life. Éomer could feel the hopelessness and grief that filled the boy's heart, though he himself felt only fright and a growing abhorrence for Denethor.))

Their minds snapped back as the memory ended. Pelatarn grinned triumphantly. "How does it feel, little Steward, to know that your father wanted you dead? That you do not deserve love?"

Faramir stared stubbornly at Pelatarn. "You will not break me. Not even that memory will break me."

Narrowing his eyes, Pelatarn considered letting his men just kill Faramir and get it over with. 'No, that would be admitting failure, and I never fail.' He left the cell without even punishing Faramir for speaking out.

* * *

Faramir leaned back, pressing his torn back against the cold stone wall. The pain cleared his mind and he tried to not think about what he had seen. Instead, he tried to focus on his years in Rivendell, the one time he had felt safe and loved. He thought of Lord Elrond, his foster father, and smiled sadly. 'I wish you were here, Ada. I wish you could tell me what to do.'

Closing his eyes, Faramir could almost hear Elrond's voice. _Tir, the shadow is not stronger than you, you can beat it. Fight it_.

'I will try, Ada.'

To Éomer's dismay, he could not stop his hands from shaking. He didn't know if it was a side-effect from the black magic, or if it was shock from what he had seen. Éomer looked at his brother-by-law who had his eyes closed. "Faramir, did that... was that real?"

Faramir opened his eyes and Éomer could see the sadness in them. "It was all too real, Éomer."

"What happened?"

Such a simple question, with a long, horrible answer. "He was drunk and he hated me. Had Uncle Imrahil not stopped him... "

He let Éomer imagine the rest. "And afterwards?"

Faramir closed his eyes again, suddenly exhausted. "Imrahil took me to Dol Amroth. I lived there a year before circumstances made it impossible. Then Uncle took me to Rivendell where I lived the next seven years under the protection of Lord Elrond."

"King Aragorn's foster father?"

"And mine. I met Aragorn when I was thirteen. I returned to Minas Tirith three years later."

Éomer counted the years in his head. "That means you were…"

"I was eight-years-old."

The King of Rohan couldn't speak for a moment. 'Eight? Only eight-years old and his father tried to kill him!' "I...I am sorry."

Faramir nodded his head, though more from tiredness than anything else. "I do not wish to talk about it anymore, Éomer. I am too... tired right...now." Lying down on the hard floor, Faramir fell asleep, tired from the pain and the memories.

* * *

Éomer could not have slept if he wanted to. He sat for nearly an hour, his mind whirling, trying to make sense of everything. The now familiar noise echoed from the drain and Éomer turned his head as Lothiriel crawled out. As she came up to him, his anger flared. "What does 'Ada' mean, Lothiriel?" he demanded.

Lothiriel was taken aback by the harshness in his voice. "I told you to... "

He didn't give her a chance to finish. "Does it mean 'stop hurting me'? Does it mean 'help me, my father is trying to kill me'?"

Lothiriel covered her mouth with her hand. "You know?"

Éomer's eyes flashed. "Yes, I know. I _saw!_ I saw the former Steward of Gondor try to murder his son, his own child! You knew, did you not?"

"Yes, I knew. I knew, but it was not my place to say anything."

The look in her eyes calmed Éomer's temper. "Forgive me, Lothiriel. I am not angry at you." He glanced over at Faramir who was still fast asleep. "Who else knows?"

"Éowyn does, of course, and my parents. King Aragorn knows, as does Queen Arwen. Then there is the healer who warned my father and her husband who was a captain in my father's army." She paused. "Did Faramir tell you about... "

"Rivendell? Yes, he did."

"Then you have probably guessed that Lord Elrond knows, as do his sons Elladan and Elrohir, and a few trusted elves."

Éomer sighed. "Did everyone know except me?"

Lothiriel touched his arm lightly. "If Faramir had had it his way, no one would have known. From what he has said, Boromir did not even know until he journeyed to Rivendell during the War." Both were silent for a moment before Lothiriel spoke again. "The lock picks are almost ready. We will get you out soon."

Éomer looked into her eyes and Lothiriel shivered at his intense look. "Please hurry. I fear what more of this will do to him."

A lump formed in her throat and she nodded before standing up to leave. "I will not let you down. The next time we meet it will be to free you. Both of you." Lothiriel headed for the drain, but paused as another thought came to her. She turned to Éomer. "Ada is what Faramir calls Lord Elrond. It means father." With that, she disappeared, leaving the King of Rohan alone with his thoughts.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

King Aragorn surveyed the gathering army that was mustered on the Pelennor Fields. About 2,000 men from the outcompanies had scrambled together in the three days since he had called for them to assemble. Beregond had returned from Ithilien with the rest of the White Guard and the five hundred men of the Ithilien Company, all with grim looks and determined eyes. These were the men Faramir had trained, had fought beside, all the years of Sauron's attacks. They were the ones Aragorn counted on to lead the rest to save his brother and the people of Edoras.

"My lord, where shall my men go?" Aragorn turned to Elfhelm, the Marshal of the East-mark who had fought in the Great War. Quite soon after Aragorn had called for his own army, Elfhelm and about 120 Riders of Rohan had ridden into Minas Tirith with the purpose of obtaining the aid of Gondor in reclaiming their capital. After learning of Edoras's fall, the Marshal had gathered his _éored _but had not the numbers to successfully attack the enemy. Thus Elfhelm had submitted to the authority of Gondor, and his cavalry, along with the men of Ithilien, was going to be the focal point of the army.

"Your Riders will join the knights of Dol Amroth under Imrahil and the knights of Minas Tirith under my command. We will be at the head of the Company."

As Elfhelm left, Aragorn headed towards his command tent. Though still in the city, Aragorn had found it easier to coordinate the army on the Fields instead of from the Tower. He was halfway there when a familiar voice shouted at him. "Estel!"

Turning quickly, the King was stunned to see his elvish brothers walking towards him, leading their horses. "Elrohir? Elladan, what are you doing here?"

The dark-haired twins gave him identical exasperated looks. The younger, Elrohir, spoke. "We could ask you the same question, Estel. We come here to spend the winter with our brothers and nearly get shot by your archers before someone who recognized us stopped them."

Elladan took over. "And then we find the whole army of Gondor gathering, along with a company of Rohirrim. What in Arda is going on?"

Aragorn sighed. He loved his brothers dearly, but he had so much to do that this interruption was irritating. "Edoras has been conquered by a dark enemy that, surprisingly enough, is not from Mordor. The leaders of the enemy army are a power-hungry man and his friend. Unfortunately his friend happens to be a necromancer and practitioner of dark magic, so the army we are going to fight happens to be the undead bodies of the beings who died at Helm's Deep."

The twins stared at him. Elladan blinked his eyes and somewhere a cricket chirped. "No, really, what is going on?"

Aragorn just looked at them and they saw the truth in his eyes. Elrohir glanced at his brother before speaking for both of them. "We will ride with you."

The King gave a small smile. "Thank you, my brothers. You can have your horses taken care of near that tent over there. If you will excuse me, I must meet with my Captains for a moment."

* * *

The twins led their horses over to where Aragorn had pointed. After brushing down the horses and feeding them, the brothers headed over to the Ithilien Company, hoping to find Faramir. They were walking past a small cluster of archers when they overheard their youngest foster brother's name. Figuring that the common soldier would be easier to get information from, Elladan spoke up. "Excuse me."

The soldiers started, having not heard the silent elves. After getting over the initial shock, one of them named Anfin recognized the elves who had fought in the War of the Ring. "M'lords, how may we help you?"

"Forgive us for the intrusion, but we have just arrived and learned of the attack on Edoras. I am afraid we are somewhat in the dark about the details and were wondering if you could enlighten us."

Anfin nodded. "Certainly, m'lords."

"Please. I am Elladan, and this is Elrohir. We are soldiers just like you." 'Well, also the lords of Rivendell, but that is a minor detail.'

"Ver'well, Elladan. Apparently, two weeks ago a dark enemy attacked and conquered Edoras. It took two days for word to reach the King who then sent out spies to find out more about the enemy. So when the spy, I don't know who it was, came back three days ago the King called up the army. Our company got here yesterday. I think Captain Beregond's talking to King Elessar right now, or I'd take you to him."

Elrohir frowned. "Captain Beregond is leading the Ithilien Company?"

"'Course. He _is_ second-in-command of Ithilien. Besides, there isn't any way we'd let some city-man lead us, not on _this_ mission. Only one of them I trust is the King, he knows the ways of the wild."

The twins were still back on the part about Beregond being in charge of the Ithilien Company. "But what of the Lord Faramir? Should he not lead the Company?"

Anfin gave them a grave look. "You haven't head then?" Elrohir shook his head, worry rising in him. "Captain Faramir was in Edoras when it was attacked. He and King Éomer are being held captive by the enemy. That's why we're heading out. To save the Steward. And to rescue Rohan, 'course," he added when the other soldiers gave him a look.

Elladan felt his stomach sink and he knew Elrohir felt the same. Aragorn's agitation suddenly made more sense. He was scared for Faramir. 'Tir, what have you gotten yourself into now?' Out loud he said, "Thank you for telling us."

"You're welcome, umm, Elrohir. Are you riding with us?"

The older twin didn't bother correcting the man. "Yes, we are." 'But first, we are going to talk to Estel.'

* * *

They caught Aragorn in the command tent, the Captains having just left. By unspoken mutual concession, Elladan spoke. "Estel! Why did you not tell us that Tir is in Edoras? How could you keep that from us?"

The hurt look in the twins' eyes made Aragorn feel guilty. "I was going to tell you later. These past few days have been stressful and having you two show up has just added to the problem. Now I have more brothers to worry about!"

Elladan tried to calm himself. Hearing about Faramir had troubled him deeply, especially knowing his foster brother's tendency to get hurt. "Please, Estel. Tell us everything."

And Aragorn did, even the part about sending Arwen as a spy. Luckily the two elves were too busy being concerned about Faramir that they didn't pay as much attention to that detail. Elrohir paled when he heard of Pelatarn's dark magic and what he was doing to Faramir. "This is not good. An assault on the mind can be worse than an assault on the body. If this necromancer is powerful enough, he could break Tir before we can do anything. And if Tir's mind breaks... we could lose him."

"How?"

Elrohir closed his eyes as he remembered what his father, Lord Elrond, had taught him. "He would become a shell, alive but without thought, emotion; controlled completely by whoever holds him in his power, much like these undead soldiers. His body would live, but his soul would die."

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

Faramir fought to open his eyes. Even after nearly a day of sleep, still his entire body felt exhausted. Nightmares haunted him, brought on by his invaded memories. Faramir could now barely remember the good times with his mind so forced to remember the bad. Even his beloved Éowyn's face was beginning to blur in his mind's eye, a fact that both grieved and frightened him.

Éomer was already awake and quickly knelt by Faramir's side, offering water. "How are you feeling?"

The Steward forced his eyes to focus on Éomer's concerned face. "Wonderful. Never better. In fact, I feel like going for a run around the city. Maybe even twice."

Éomer chuckled. "Your point is well taken." His face turned serious. "Hold on, Faramir. We will get out of this."

"I highly doubt that." The king of Rohan looked up and glared at Pelatarn, who just sneered. "Pathetic. Not even a sharp retort. I would bet you do not even believe yourself, your highness."

Faramir struggled to stand up, and succeeded only with Éomer's help. "Leave us alone. You have no power over us, you have lost."

The defiance in the Steward's eyes maddened Pelatarn. How could this pitiful child still resist his power so forcibly? Enraged, the necromancer did not even bother entering Faramir's mind, lifting his hand and unleashing his dark power on the unsuspecting Steward.

Light exploded before Faramir's eyes as his whole body erupted in pain. Dropping to the ground, he could only let out an agonized cry before the pain became his world, from which no escape was possible.

Éomer watched in horror as Faramir convulsed on the floor. Finally, the king could take no more. Falling limp, he was able to slip free from the soldiers that held him. Throwing himself forward, Éomer attacked Pelatarn who was startled into ending his torment of Faramir.

It did not take long for the necromancer to toss Éomer off with his dark magic. Pelatarn glared at the king of Rohan. "You fool! You dare try to challenge me? I shall show you how those who attack me are dealt with!" Éomer found himself thrown against the wall. An unseen hand closed around his throat and began suffocating him. As the king struggled to breathe, Pelatarn grinned, his red eyes glowing maniacally.

Éomer's eyesight dimmed as the need for air became too great. 'I'm dying. No! Faramir needs me, Éowyn needs me. Lothiriel' He felt his mind shut down. 'Lothiriel…'

"Pelatarn!" Mustayo stormed into the dungeon. "Pelatarn release him at once!"

The necromancer sneered at his ally. "Why should I?"

"He is mine for revenge. You have no right to him! Release him now."

Pelatarn's anger cooled and he released Éomer who greedily sucked in fresh air. "Very well. He is of no use to me." He calmly left the cell, followed by his soldiers.

Mustayo stood over the fallen Éomer and kicked him harshly in the stomach. "You are now in my debt, son of Éomund. Hah! That is almost more enjoyable than whipping you. Almost."

* * *

After Mustayo left, Éomer crawled over to Faramir. He winced as he saw that the wounds on the Steward's back had opened up further. The sweat that ran into them caused Faramir to groan as the salt burned into his skin. "Faramir."

Amazingly, the Steward opened his eyes. But Éomer's heart sunk, for the light in those gray eyes was fading. "Éomer," came Faramir's rasping voice. "Éomer, I am failing."

The king shook his head. "No."

"I cannot resist anymore. I do not have the strength to fight."

"No!" Éomer shouted vehemently. "No, just keep fighting…"

Faramir's pleading eyes stopped him. "I cannot. Éomer, do not let me fall to him." At first Éomer didn't comprehend what he was saying. Faramir weakly grabbed his arm. "I will not be his slave. Please, Éomer."

Understanding dawned on the king. Faramir would rather die than become a pawn for the necromancer. And only Éomer could make that happen. "Faramir, I cannot…I cannot kill you!" he hissed.

"You must."

"Even if I agreed, I would have no means."

Faramir smiled slightly. "Yes, you do." Though it obviously caused him great pain, the Steward moved his arm out from underneath his body. In his hand he clutched a dagger.

Éomer gapped at it. "How did you…?"

"The soldiers. With Pelatarn occupied with you, they had no purpose. They did not even notice me take it from them." Faramir's shaking hand dropped it on the stone floor. "If I fail, use it." His eyes closed as his body began falling unconscious.

Éomer shook his head again. "No! Faramir, please fight him! My sister needs you, fight for Éowyn!"

The king could barely make out Faramir's whispered words. "For Éowyn I will fight a little longer. For Éowyn."

* * *

Pelatarn paced the throneroom of Meduseld as his undead soldiers stood blanky by. 'How is he resisting? Those memories should be breaking him, not just weakening his shields.'

The ever-present darkness in his mind slithered into his thoughts, bringing evil counsel as it also replenished his power. **He has made his peace with his father. You saw that with the memories of the elf-lord. Something different is needed. **

'What? Those are the memories that cause him pain.'

**He has grown used to that attack, the scenes you use. If you change your tactic, he will fall.**

Pelatarn grinned as a plan formed in his mind. "Yes, he will fall."

* * *

Éowyn pulled her blanket under her chin and stared at the ceiling of Hild's house. The others were all asleep and, though exhausted, Éowyn's mind was too busy to allow her that comfort. The whole day had been tense for her, although she didn't know why. The shadow over the city seemed to darken and even the children had noticed, growing silent and frightened.

As always, Éowyn's thoughts centered on Faramir. It didn't seem possible that they had only known each other for three years. Their life together had had its fill of troubled times and arguments, yet she knew that she loved Faramir even more as the years passed. 'Why, then, must we always be separated like this? One worrying for the other, not knowing if we will ever see each other again.' She sighed as she thought of Lothiriel's troubled face and anxious agitation. Something was very, very wrong. 'Faramir, keep fighting. I don't know what is happening, but please keep fighting. I can't lose you.'

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

Éomer woke before Faramir, though he almost wished he hadn't. In the empty cell, all the king could do was stare at the dagger in his hands. His mind dwelt on the blade and its intended purpose. 'I can't do it. I can't kill Faramir. Nor, though, do I want him under that vile man's control.' He toyed with the idea of attacking Pelatarn, but discarded that thought almost instantly. The necromancer would be on his guard next time, he would not let Éomer get close enough to do any harm. 'Perhaps…perhaps we will be able to escape before he comes again. Perhaps Lothiriel will return.'

It was not to be. The doors banged open and Pelatarn strode in, followed by five guards. Three quickly subdued Éomer, who tried not to look over to the food where he had just hidden the dagger. The other two guards held Faramir upright, his own strength not enough. The Steward shivered at the new glint in Pelatarn's crimson eyes. The necromancer just laughed. "I will not waste time with pleasantries. Bid farewell to your friend, _king_ Éomer, for this is the last time you will see him as he is."

Faramir lifted his chin. "You assume much."

"We shall see."

((Faramir gasped as he realized that he was not in a memory of his father. It was instead the day Boromir had left for Rivendell. The last day he had seen his brother alive.

As Boromir left the city gates, he stepped out of the shadows. "Take care, Boromir. I love you, brother."

Boromir smiled down from his seat on his horse. "I love you too little brother. Be careful out there in Ithilien. I will be back before you know I am gone."))

_But he wasn't, was he? He died on the mission you should have taken. He did not want you to be hurt, knowing how dangerous the journey was. You should have died but you didn't, your brother died instead. He died because of you._

Faramir's mind whirled, not prepared to defend against this attack. "No!"

((He was again in the fever-dreams of the Black Breath. He watched as Denethor and Mithrandir radiated with light, ebony versus ivory. Faramir discerned words at last, the words of his father. "I would have things as they were in all the days of my life and in the days of my forefathers: to be the Lord of this City in peace, to leave my chair to a son after me. A son who would be his own master and no wizard's pupil, or elf's son. But if doom denies this to me, then I will have _nothing_! Neither life diminished, nor love halved, nor honor lessened."

Denethor grabbed a torch and thrust it by the table, which erupted into a pyre of flame. To Faramir's horror, his father leapt upon the pyre and laid himself down amidst the fire, the glowing orb in his hands.))

_You drove him to that. It was you, stricken from fighting for his love, that broke him. And when he finally loved you, you did nothing to save him, you let him burn in flames!_ Pelatarn smiled as he saw Faramir weaken.

The Steward closed his eyes and groaned, but he couldn't shut out the images. His tired and beaten mind couldn't sort out the lies from the truth, the falsehoods breaking down his barriers. "Stop, please."

But Pelatarn was not done.

((The Golden Hall was filled with men and women gathered to remember King Theoden who had been buried that morning. Éomer, the new king, had just announced Faramir's engagement to Éowyn and they had been trothplighted. Now Éowyn went up to Aragorn, eyes bright. "Wish me joy, my liege-lord and healer!"

Always the gentlemen, Aragorn answered, "I have wished you joy from the moment I saw you. It heals my heart to see you now so happy." Faramir could not help the jealousy that rose within him. 'Will she always love him?'))

_You were her second choice. How could you compare to the King of Gondor and Arnor? Always you have been second best._

Faramir bit his lip so hard that he drew blood. "It's not true, it's not true." His head spun as Pelatarn suddenly threw at him all his memories, twisted and darkened till he couldn't remember any light. "Stop it! Please stop it, stop it, stopitstopitstopit!" Faramir felt the shields of his mind break down against the onslaught. 'I'm failing. I can't…I can't hold back, I can't…fight. Ada, help me!' The Steward hardly realized when the soldiers holding him let go and he fell against the floor. 'Ada! Ada, where are you? Save me!' He tried to focus on the memory of his foster father, but to no avail. The elf's face swam tantalizingly out of reach. 'ADA!'

_**Eru, save my son!**_

Suddenly, lightning flashed across Faramir's mind and he found he could remember his Ada, his brothers, his family. He used those memories as a wall against the darkness. But Pelatarn kept throwing the evil memories at him and Faramir could only pull back into the dark corners of his mind, giving the shadow free reign.

* * *

Éomer realized from the beginning that something was wrong. The confusion and terror on Faramir's face confirmed his fears. The king of Rohan could only watch helplessly as his friend weakened before this new tactic. Éomer's heart twisted as he listened to Faramir plea for mercy, something the king never thought would happen.

Soon he was adding his own pleas to Faramir's, the sight too much for him. Then all was quiet. Pelatarn's lips curled up as Faramir lay still on the floor. The soldiers holding Éomer let go and the king hurried to his friend's side. "Faramir." Turning the Steward over to face him, Éomer sucked in a breath. Faramir's eyes, normally gray as the ocean or silver like a mirror, were ebony black. Only the rising and falling of his chest told the king that his brother-by-marriage was actually alive. Éomer looked up and glared at Pelatarn "What have you done to him?"

Pelatarn grinned. "He is mine now, little king. My revenge is realized, after so many years. My _ringnar _failed to kill him, he evaded my trap so brilliantly baited with his own fiancée, but now I have succeeded at last!" He lifted his hand and, to Éomer's horror, Faramir rose mechanically to his feet as if summoned. "Faramir, murderer of Lokir, is now my mindless, soulless slave!"

Éomer stood up and shook his head in disbelief. "No."

The necromancer laughed and turned to Faramir. "Slave, punish him." And Faramir, who would never, _ever_ hurt anyone in his family, roughly backhanded Éomer across the face and then shoved him with such strength that the king flew against the wall and fell with a thud on the stone floor. While Éomer tried to reorient himself, Pelatarn chuckled. "You see? He is mine and tomorrow the whole city will watch him as he cold-bloodedly murders his own wife's brother by my order."

With one last triumphant look, Pelatarn turned and left the cell trailed by the undead soldiers and, finally, Faramir mindlessly followed. Éomer grit his teeth as he gripped the dagger in his hand and ran to the bars of his cage. "Faramir! FARAMIR!" The Steward didn't turn around and he gripped the knife tighter. This was his only chance, he could still hit him from where he stood. 'You promised. Do it, do it now' But he couldn't. As Faramir disappeared, Éomer slid to his knees. He stared down numbly at the blade in his hand. Faramir had fallen. He had failed. His only task, the last wish of his brother, and he had failed.

* * *

I guess Evil Skittle escaped custody for that chapter. And probably the next one as well. 


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

Morning dawned as Aragorn looked out over the plains of Rohan. His brothers rode beside him as did Prince Imrahil and the _éored_ commander Elfhelm. Before them lay Edoras, the jewel of the Mark. The men stood silently behind them, grim-faced and determined.

Aragorn kept his eyes forward, but spoke to Elfhelm. "Can you and your men attack your own city and fight the undead men that were once your friends and brothers?"

The Rider of Rohan set his jaw and lifted his chin. "We will fight the dead to protect the living. If we have to burn the city to free our country, we will do so."

The king nodded. "Then it is time." The rising sun glistened off Andúril as Aragorn unsheathed his sword. The army of Gondor and Rohan followed suit as they watched black-clad soldiers march out of Edoras like ants. Aragorn's eyes narrowed. "Attack!"

* * *

"Éowyn, wake up!" The Lady of Ithilien blinked back sleep and swatted at Lothiriel who was excitedly shaking her awake.

"What is it?" yawned Éowyn.

Hild appeared next to Lothiriel. "We must move quickly. The army of Gondor is here, now is the time to free King Éomer and Faramir."

That woke Éowyn up completely. Hurriedly dressing, she met Hild and Lothiriel in the kitchen. Lothiriel was already dressed in her usual clothes for climbing through the drain. She was ready with the lock-picks to head back to the dungeon. Éowyn placed a hand over her queasy stomach. Now was not the time to deal with her now daily nausea. "Lothiriel, are you ready?"

Lothiriel nodded. "It will not take me long to pick the locks, though I do not know how fast we can move through the Hall. Pelatarn and Mustayo are certain to have guards at the doors."  
Acknowledging this, Éowyn turned to Hild. "And the people?"

"Ready and willing to fight. We will rid ourselves of those monsters and fight to free the bodies of our loved ones."

Éowyn smiled, proud of her people and her friend. "We give Lothiriel time to free Éomer and Faramir, then we attack."

* * *

The moment she left the drain, Lothiriel knew something was wrong. The now familiar figure of Éomer sat with his back against the wall, not even noticing her. Moving quickly she opened the cell she was in and hurriedly began picking the lock to Éomer and Faramir's cell. The only response from the king was a slight shift. With a click, the door opened and Lothiriel stepped inside. With a sinking feeling she realized that Éomer was alone in the prison. "Éomer, where is Faramir?" Instead of looking at her, the king turned his head away. Kneeling by his side, Lothiriel touched his shoulder. "Éomer?"

The king of Rohan looked at her and she stiffened at the grief that filled his chocolate eyes. "It is too late. He has fallen to the darkness."

Lothiriel's eyes widened in horror. "No. No, he could not."

"He did. He is…" Éomer's voice choked on the word. "He is dead to us now. His soul is dead." Suddenly a hard determination crossed the king's face and he stood. "But now, at least, I can fulfill my promise. He will not bePelatarn's slave."

Rising to stand next to him, Lothiriel realized what he meant. With a heavy heart, she knew it was the only way. "We will need weapons. The King may be attacking, but there are sure to still be guards."

Éomer took the lead. "The armory is this way."

* * *

While Lothiriel was freeing Éomer, Éowyn was arguing with Hild. "I am _not_ staying here, Hild! It is my husband and brother who are captive, as well as my people being oppressed."

Hild stood between Éowyn and the door of her home with her hands on her hips. "Lothiriel said I was to keep you here for your own safety."

Éowyn glared at her friend. "Lothiriel is a foreign princess. I am the king's sister!"

"Well, I think that someday Lothiriel may be queen so I am not taking any chances."

Ignoring Hild's comment, Éowyn opened her mouth to argue more…only to turn and quickly relieve herself of her breakfast in a basket by the table. Hild knelt next to her friend and gently rubbed her back. Éowyn groaned. "I am sorry, the stress is getting to me. I have been feeling nauseous for weeks now and this has just made it worse."

Hild, though, only looked thoughtful. "It is alright. I have gone through this before as well. Twice, actually. Do not worry, it will only last a few months." Éowyn was only half listening, however. The path to the door was now free and in a sudden bust of energy, she threw off Hild and ran out. Hild dashed after her, stopping in the doorway. "Éowyn!" The woman sighed in frustration, knowing she couldn't catch her fleet friend. Hild turned to her children who stood behind her. "Fréaláf, stay here with your sister. Do not leave the house, understood?" Fréaláf and Sigel nodded and Hild kissed them both. "Be good." With one last hug each, Hild left her children to join in the rebellion in the city that was quickly growing.

* * *

Éomer quickly walked through the armory, picking out sword and shield from the many weapons available. He ignored the armor for not only was there no time to put it on but it would only agitate his injured back. Lothiriel picked up a spear and followed Éomer out into the halls.

The pair silently crept towards the main hall, hoping to find Pelatarn or Faramir there. Unfortunately they did not get far before Mustayo, sword drawn, stepped out of the shadows, blocking their path. "Where do you think you are going, _King _Éomer." The man then took notice of Lothiriel who stood slightly behind and to the side of Éomer. His eyes took on a hungry glint. "And who is this delightful creature?''

Éomer glared and stepped forward, lifting his sword. "Move out of my way, Mustayo."

Mustayo sneered. "I do not think so." Without warning, he attacked the king who only just managed to bring up his sword in time to counter the blow. "Is that the best you can do?"

Lothiriel found that she was holding her breath as she watched the two men fight. She ached to help Éomer, but knew it was not her place to interfere with the king's vengeance on his captor. 'Unless of course, things go wrong. I am not standing by and watching that flea-bitten dog kill him.'

Both men were getting tired, but finally Éomer got the upper hand and disarmed Mustayo. The king's sword at his throat, Mustayo felt the first tendrils of fear in his heart. "Mercy!"

Éomer narrowed his eyes. "Why should I show you mercy after what you have done?" he demanded.

"Because I saved your life from Pelatarn. You owe me."

The king of Rohan grimaced, but lowered his weapon. The man was right, honor demanded that he spare his life. "Leave my country and never return, for when I see you again, debt or no, I _will_ kill you."

Mustayo scrambled to his feet and turned as if to do exactly that. Satisfied, Éomer turned around and began walking towards Lothiriel. As he did so, however, Lothiriel saw Mustayo move behind him, saw the glint of a hidden dagger. "Éomer, down!" Instinctively following her desperate command, Éomer dropped to the ground and rolled to the side, just as a spear passed over him.

Standing, Éomer watched Mustayo drop the dagger and slump to the ground, Lothiriel's spear through his heart. The king quickly made it to her side. "Thank you, Lothiriel. I owe you my life now." Frowning, Éomer noticed that Lothiriel was pale and shaking. "What is wrong."

Lothiriel looked up at him with sad eyes. "I…I killed him. I killed a man. He was going to hurt you…I had to kill him."

Realizing that she was about to collapse, Éomer quickly wrapped his arms around her, holding her upright yet still trying to comfort her. "This is the first time you have killed then." Lothiriel nodded, then buried her face in his shoulder to hide her tears. For a moment, Éomer just stood there, stroking her hair. His mouth curved slightly as he thought how well she fit in his arms. The moment passed, though, and his mission came full force to his mind. Gently releasing Lothiriel, he cupped her face with his hand and brought her eyes up to meet his. "Will you be alright?"

"Yes," she whispered. Éomer nodded and began walking again towards the main hall. Lothiriel followed in a slight daze. The short embrace raised a torrent of feelings in her. 'Distracting feelings. I need to focus on Faramir.' With a new determination, Lothiriel walked faster, not knowing what would meet her in the end.

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

Ok, I was having some problems posting this chapter, so I might have put 16 and 17 out of order. i will check on that when I can and fix it is need-be.

* * *

Éowyn ran through Edoras, heading to the Golden Hall as quickly as she could, dodging through the fights erupting all over the city. Men and even women were rising up against the undead soldiers, learning quickly that the only way to stop them was to take off their rotting heads. The Lady of Ithilien stopped only long enough to grab a sword from a fallen soldier, before continuing towards Meduseld.

She took the steps to the Hall two at a time, trying not to stumble over her skirts. Éowyn burst through the doors and stopped, not knowing which way to go first. She did not have to decide.

"How wonderful for you to join us, milady." A man with evil, blood-red eyes stepped from behind a pillar to stand next to the King's throne. "I am Lord Pelatarn, as you may have guessed. We have been waiting for you." He walked towards her, but stopped as she raised her sword menacingly. She shivered at the smile her gave her, too much like Wormtongue's for her comfort. "Now, none of that. You might hurt someone."

Éowyn narrowed her eyes. She had guessed before by the way Lothiriel said, or rather snarled, this man's name that he was the power behind this attack. "I would love to hurt someone, as long as it was you."

Pelatarn was not fazed. "You may very well wish to kill me, but then, I do not intend to let you near enough to do so. I would rather enjoy seeing whether or not you will hurt…him." He crooked his finger and another figure stepped out of the shadows to stand in front of the necromancer.

Éowyn gasped and her sword wavered. "Faramir?" Her husband stepped forward and she could see him better. He wore all black: black boots, trousers, tunic. Yet Éowyn hardly noticed, for all she could see was that Faramir's beautiful, kind silver eyes were now dark as night, their almost elvish light quenched in shadows. At Pelatarn's signal, Faramir began heading for her, his sword held ready. "Faramir, what are you doing."

Pelatarn laughed. "He is doing what I command him to. I control him now, his soul is dead. He is my slave." He pointed a finger at Éowyn. "Disarm her."

Faramir moved forward in compliance, and Éowyn felt her heart twist as she backed away from her husband. "Faramir, do not do this, please!" He didn't listen to her and she shakily raised her sword. "Faramir!"

Éowyn's breath caught at the dead stare her beloved husband gave her. "Put down the weapon." Faramir's dull, mechanical tone caused tears to well in her eyes and her hands shook.

Pelatarn smirked. "You can put down your sword, or run him through. It is your choice, milady."

Éowyn looked through her tears at her husband. She knew every smile-line on his face, remembered his gentle touch. With a sob, Éowyn dropped the sword, which clattered on the floor with chilling finality. The noise drew her back to the situation and a sudden fear swept her. She had no weapon, no armor. Despite her belief in facing her enemy, Éowyn knew she had to escape, that she could not fight. Turning, she ran from Pelatarn and Faramir. Unfortunately, she only made it through the doors to the terrace before she hit an invisible wall

Against her will, Éowyn turned around as the necromancer walked outside followed by her fallen husband. Pelatarn shook his head. "It is almost a pity to kill you."

Éowyn lifter her chin defiantly. "You will not win, Pelatarn."

The necromancer grinned. "I already have." He raised his hand and dark tendrils shot out towards her. Éowyn instinctively closed her eyes, waiting for the end…but nothing happened. Opening her eyes, the Lady of Ithilien saw the surprise and anger on Pelatarn's face. He shot out the dark tendrils again only to have them seemingly bounce off Éowyn and dissipate. "How is this possible?" he cried.

Éowyn too was confused. He had been able to stop her from moving, yet somehow he wasn't able to kill her. "Perhaps you are not as powerful as you thought," she taunted him.

Pelatarn's eyes burned like molten gold. "I am all powerful! Nothing can repel me, _nothing!" _His eyes narrowed. "Except for the innocence of a child." The realization enraged him. "No! The Steward cannothave an heir, he _must not!_" He whirled at Faramir. "Kill her! Kill her and tear the child from her womb!"

Éowyn reeled back from this new knowledge. 'A child? I am going to have a child, Faramir's child.' Everything made sense now, her strange moods, her nausea in the mornings, even Hild's strange words before she left. 'I am going to have a baby.' Yet the hope and happiness that rose in her was suffocated when she saw Faramir lift his sword and walk towards her. She could not move; Pelatarn still held her captive.

'No!' Éowyn felt a new protectiveness overcome her emotions. She would not let anyone harm her child. Yet she was helpless, she could not fight, could not run from her enslaved husband. Tears fell down her cheeks. "Faramir! Faramir do not do this! Please, my love!"

He kept walking towards her, standing now between her and Pelatarn. Éowyn sank to her knees in grief. "Faramir please do not kill us. Do not kill your child!"

* * *

Faramir floated behind a wall of nothingness. The darkness surrounded him, swirled around him like a tempest of night. There was no past, no future. Only now. He felt like a child, lost in a storm. A rhyme came to him, a rhyme from the past, sung by a person in his past, yet there was no past. But the children's rhyme came anyway, echoing in the silence.

Father Bird, Father Bird,  
Sitting in the tree,  
Why do you cry so hard?  
Come and play with me!

Oh Little Bird, Little Bird,  
You do not understand.  
My little heart just hurts so much,  
I do not think I can.

But Father Bird, Father Bird,  
With you I want to play!  
The sun is shining, the grass is green,  
Oh what a lovely day!

My Little Bird, Little Bird,  
I just do not know why.  
Surely there is someone else,  
Who is much better than I!

There was more. He knew there was. What was the end? Why was he so confused?

More words filtered into the tempest, words from outside his self-made walls. _Disarm her Faramir, do not…_ 'Do not? Do not what?' As he tried to listen harder, the storm of darkness slowed around him and he moved to his walls. 'Who is there?' the weapon 'What weapon? Is someone hurt?'

Faramir reached the walls, built to keep out the evil. Anymore darkness and he knew he would fall._ You will not win_ 'Who?' He reached out and touched the clear barrier, trying to see through. His breath caught at what he saw. 'Éowyn!' And she was a captive of Pelatarn. 'No, Éowyn!' He began to push against the walls, then remembered that if he left their safety he would fall to the darkness

Pelatarn was furious at something. What was it? Why was Éowyn getting closer? _Kill her!_ 'No! Who is he ordering, I must stop him!' Faramir frantically searched for the person who was to kill his wife. A sword appeared in front of his face and realization hit him. He was the one who was being ordered to kill his Éowyn. And he was following the order 'No. No!' Éowyn began crying. _Faramir, do not do this!_ 'I do not want to, but I cannot leave or I will fall.' She sank to her knees. _Faramir, please do not kill us! Do not kill your child!_

Faramir froze and time seemed to stop. 'Child? My child? I am going to have a child?' A sudden joy filled his heart. 'Éowyn is going to have my child!' A chill went through him as he realized what he was about to do. He was controlled by Pelatarn and was going to kill his wife and unborn baby. 'NO!' Without a thought to the attacking evil, Faramir tore down the walls he had made to protect his mind and threw himself forward, determined to save his family.

* * *

Éowyn sobbed, her eyes closed as if in prayer. "Please," she whispered over and over again. "please, please, please." The sword raised above her head, ready to take her life, the life of her baby…and stopped.

Pelatarn frowned. "Kill her!" Faramir started moving, but again hesitated.

In wonder, Éowyn looked at her husband. His hands were shaking, as was his head. Éowyn's hand came to her mouth as she saw Faramir's eyes change from black back to grey, to black again, back and forth, gaining speed until she could no longer keep track of the change. At last, Faramir closed his eyes and when they flew open…they burned silver again!

Swiftly turning, Faramir brought his sword down at Pelatarn. The surprised necromancer moved away in time, but the blade swept through the man's outstretched hand. Pelatarn howled in pain as he clutched his cloven hand, blood dripping to the ground. The force holding Éowyn in place disappeared and she rushed forward to Faramir's side. He did not look at her. "Éowyn, go inside."

"But…"

"Now! You cannot risk yourself." His eyes blazed fiercely, his glare focused on the man who had tormented him. "I will take care of him." Éowyn reluctantly agreed and slowly slid to the door of Meduseld. Faramir lifted his sword again and pointed it at Pelatarn, trying to ignore the wounds that were sapping his energy even as he stood still. "We finish this now."

Pelatarn glared at the Steward. Without warning, the necromancer's hand went out behind him and Éowyn's fallen sword flew into his good hand. The blade, heated from the power of his touch, glowed red-hot. "I will enjoy killing you, once and for all, little Steward."

The necromancer attacked first, shoving Faramir back with a burst of power from his injured hand. The force hitting his injured body caused Faramir to suck in his breath from the pain, but with grim determination he moved forward a few steps. Gathering his rapidly waning strength, Faramir moved against Pelatarn, attacking rapidly with strokes that the necromancer barely parried. Finally, the Steward disarmed his enemy, the molten sword fallen out of reach.

Pelatarn managed to freeze Faramir's assault with his magic for a moment, though he knew he would not be able to use his power for long. He was using too much to stop the pain and bleeding in his hand. But Pelatarn had one tactic left. "You will not kill me."

Faramir growled as he struggled to free his weapon from the necromancer's grip. "Release my sword and I will show you what I think about that statement."

The Steward frowned at Pelatarn's smug look. "You cannot kill me. I am the only thing keeping you alive. If I die…so do you!"

Faramir gripped his sword tighter, sweat rolling down his face. He knew Pelatarn spoke the truth. His injuries were too great, without the power of the necromancer holding them back as it was, his body could not survive. Faramir smiled at Pelatarn. "You are right, I will die." He relaxed his stance, and the necromancer grinned at Faramir's weakness.

Pelatarn's smirk grew and he lowered his power, certain that the Steward saw things his way. He was wrong. Faramir's eyes narrowed again. "I will die, but my wife and child will live without fear!" With that, the Steward shoved the sword into Pelatarn's chest. And then, the world exploded around him.

* * *


	17. Chapter 17

* * *

Éowyn watched as Faramir and Pelatarn began battling. Moments passed before she remembered Faramir's command. Running into the Hall, she was determined to find Éomer and Lothiriel. She did not have to look far.

Lothiriel was the first to see her. "Éowyn! What are you doing here?"

The Lady of Ithilien ran up to her brother and grabbed his arm. "Please, brother, you must help him!"

Éomer looked at his sister's tear-streaked face before closing his eyes. How could he tell her about her beloved husband. "Éowyn, I must tell you…"

Éowyn tugged on his arm, this time harder. "No! You must go help Faramir!"

Lothiriel bit her lip. "Éowyn, Faramir…has fallen into darkness." Éomer lowered his head, ashamed that he hadn't saved his brother-by-marriage.

"He is not fallen anymore!" Éomer's head jerked up and he looked wide-eyed at his sister. "He is fighting Pelatarn before the Hall, but he will not let me help. Please, 'mer, help him!"

Éowyn had barely finished speaking before Éomer took off towards the entrance of the Hall. She quickly followed, Lothiriel behind her. The Lady of Dol Amroth felt a glimmer of hope. 'Please do not let us be too late.'

Éomer barely noticed Lothiriel and his sister following him, so determined was he to make it to Faramir. Even if Éowyn spoke falsely from grief, still he could avenge Faramir and the lives Pelatarn had destroyed. Éomer flung open the doors just in time to see Faramir run Pelatarn through with his sword.

All at once, a huge, black wind picked up, swirling around the dying necromancer. Éomer fell to his hands and knees from the force and behind him Lothiriel and Éowyn forced close the large doors of the Hall. The king of Rohan struggled to his feet as Pelatarn gave an inhuman shriek and the wind wildly pulsated around them. "Faramir!" Éomer saw that the Steward's hands were still on the hilt of the sword, the black wind holding him captive. Though he didn't know what might happen, Éomer felt in his heart that Faramir was in danger. Pushing through the wind, Éomer rushed at the Steward and tackled him the ground.

Suddenly, the black wind gathered around Pelatarn and squeezed, crushing the man before the wind exploded with a force that shoved Éomer and Faramir off the steps, landing some feet below on the hard earth. The explosion ripped through the city and across the plains, flattening all people to the ground, yet seeming not to touch the houses and walls of the city. Yet just as soon as the wind picked up, it disappeared. All that was left of Pelatarn was two withered hands, one whole, the other cloven in half.

* * *

Lothiriel picked herself up off the floor of the main hall. Shaking her head, she helped Éowyn to her feet before opening Meduseld's doors. Her stomach twisted when she saw no one, not Pelatarn, not Faramir…not Éomer.

Éowyn stepped past her out into the sun. "Faramir! Faramir!" Lothiriel joined her call. "Faramir, Éomer!"

The only reply was a groan from below the terrace. The women raced down the steps to find Éomer and Faramir lying on the ground, both heart-stoppingly still. Éowyn knelt by her husband's side while Lothiriel found herself running to Éomer instead of her cousin. "Éomer, are you alright?"

The king of Rohan groaned again, but opened his eyes. He smiled at Lothiriel. "Hwæt, Beorhtéage." Before she could ask what he had said, Éomer sat straight up, the smile slipping from his face. "Faramir!" Both turned to see Éowyn kneeling over her husband, whispering his name.

"Wake up, Faramir. Please, open your eyes." Éowyn nearly sobbed in relief when the Steward's eyelashes fluttered open. "Faramir, are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Faramir smiled softly at his beloved wife. He lifted a shaking hand and brushed a tear off her face. "Forgive me. I love you."

Éowyn caught his hand and held it to her cheek. "There is nothing to forgive. I just love you so much, Faramir."

Faramir only sighed. "Min léof." Éowyn felt his hand go limp and her chest tightened as his eyes closed.

"Faramir. Faramir!"

Éomer and Lothiriel, who had watched the exchange, quickly came over to her. Lothiriel's face paled at the sight of Faramir struggling for breath. "Éomer, his injuries…"

Éowyn looked at them. "What injuries? How was he injured?"

The king's face was grim, but he didn't answer her. "He needs a healer, quickly. Lothiriel…" A tiny gasp made him whirl around. Two children, an older boy and younger girl, were standing behind him.

Lothiriel's eyes widened. "Fréaláf, Sigel! What are you doing here?"

They didn't get a chance to answer, for an idea had come to Éomer. "You, boy." Fréaláf stepped forward hesitantly. "Your name is Fréaláf?" He nodded. "I need you to run down to the fields and bring back King Elessar. Tell him his brother is badly injured. Can you do that?" Another nod. "Good, now go!" Fréaláf ran off at top speed while Éomer turned back to Faramir. "We need to get him inside. Lothiriel?"

"One moment." The Lady of Dol Amroth leaned over to be eye-level with Sigel. "Sigel, can you find your way home?" The girl nodded. "Alright, you need to go straight home and stay there. I am sure your mother told you to anyway, am I right?" Tears welled in the child's eyes and Lothiriel couldn't help but give her a hug. "Please, go now. I need to help my cousin. Alright?" In response, Sigel turned and headed towards home.

Éomer gently lifted his brother-by-law. "Lothiriel, take his other side. 'wyn, we will need your help with the doors." Together they made it inside the Golden Hall and heading to the bedrooms on the sides of the Hall.

* * *

The king made to take Faramir into one of the rooms, but Éowyn stopped him. "Not this one, please."

Éomer paused for a moment, and nodded. "You are right. Here, this way." Reaching another room, Éowyn opened the door to what was obviously the bedroom for the king of Rohan. While Lothiriel and Éomer gently laid Faramir on the bed, Éowyn shakily lit the torches before joining them by Faramir's side.

The Steward was obviously in pain, though still unconscious. Lothiriel shook her head. "We need to get that tunic off him." Éomer agreed, but instead of trying to help Faramir out of the tunic as Éowyn had expected, he pulled out the dagger that Faramir had given him the day before. The king carefully cut the tunic so that it could be gently lifted off the Steward without aggravating his wounds.

For the first time, Éowyn saw what had happened to her husband and felt sick to her stomach. Faramir's chest was covered in bruises, which stood out harshly against his deathly pale skin. When Éomer turned him on his side to relieve the pressure on his injuries Éowyn gasped at the sight of her husband's shredded back. 'Oh Valar!' Faramir groaned and Éowyn thought her heart would burst. 'Aragorn, please hurry!'

* * *

King Aragorn wiped the gore off of Andúril and grimaced at the sight of the dead around him. Some of his men were still picking themselves up off the ground after the black wind had knocked them all down. But none of the undead soldiers they had fought rose, for which Aragorn was incredibly thankful. Fighting the bodies of his friends and comrades was something he would never forget.

The twins walked up to his sides and he knew his brothers felt the same way. Aragorn stared at the ground. "I knew some of these men. I fought beside them at Helm's Deep, they were good men. They did not deserve this."

Elladan put a hand on his little brother's shoulder. "No they did not. But now, Edoras is free and we can properly bury these men yet again."

Prince Imrahil and Elfhelm came up to the brothers. The Prince nodded his head in respect. "My lord, I am glad to give you the news that very few of our men, Rohirrim or Gondorian, have been lost. It did seem that especially near the end, the undead did not fight as well, which certainly aided this."

Aragorn breathed deeply. "I am glad. Let us hope the casualties inside Edoras are no higher."

"My lord, there is someone coming from the city!" Aragorn looked to where the soldier pointed. A child had just left the gate of the city and was running towards them.

The king of Gondor looked at his brothers and the Captains, before heading towards the child, a young boy. The boy arrived, out of breath and panting. "Need…to find…King Elessar."

Aragorn stepped forward. "I am he. Do you have a message from Edoras?"

The boy straightened up, and tried to catch his breath. "Yes, my lord. My name…is Fréaláf. Éomer King told me…to bring you back…to the city. It's… urgent."

"Did he say why?"

Fréaláf nodded. "He said, my lord…that your brother is… badly injured."

Aragorn hissed through his teeth while the twins shared a worried look. The king turned to the others. "Imrahil, Elfhelm, stay here with the men, help with the injured. And watch over Fréaláf here, he deserves some rest." With that, Aragorn mounted his horse and headed to Edoras, followed closely by the twins. 'Do not let us be too late.'

* * *

Éowyn met the king of Gondor as he entered the Golden Hall. "Thank the Valar you are here, my lord."

"We came as quickly as possible. Where is Tir?"

"He is in the King's bedroom, down that hall." She paused. "We?"

As Aragorn began moving down the hall, Éowyn heard a voice behind her. "He means us, Éowyn." She turned to see the twins. Elrohir quickly followed Aragorn at a near run, and Elladan walked with Éowyn towards the room. "How bad are his wounds"

Éowyn sighed. "They are bad, Elladan. I do not even know how bad, I think only Éomer knows. No one told me anything." Tears came again. "They did not tell me." As Éowyn sobbed, all Elladan could do was embrace her and let his sister-by-marriage cry.

Aragorn flew into the bedroom, startling Éomer and Lothiriel who were trying to stop the bleeding from Faramir's back. Seeing his little brother's lacerated back, the blood seeping onto the white sheets, turned the king's stomach. "Valar!" Aragorn heard a sharp intake of breath behind him and knew Elrohir was there.

Éomer stood and bowed his head slightly. "Lord Aragorn, please. Help him." The king of Rohan's eyes showed the two sons of Elrond the depth of what had happened to these men as captives.

Elrohir and Aragorn joined Lothiriel at Faramir's bedside. Aragorn looked at his fellow king. "Lord Éomer, tell us what happened."

* * *


	18. Chapter 18

* * *

Éowyn and Elladan entered as Éomer finished telling the others what had happened. Though Éowyn's face was dry, it was obvious by the redness of her eyes and the wetness of Elladan's shoulder that she still was not all right. Elrohir looked up at his twin, his face grim. "El, could you take them into another room? We need space to work."

Elladan nodded and quickly moved Éowyn, Lothiriel, and Éomer into the adjoining room, the Queen's bedroom which had not been used since Théoden's wife, Queen Elfhild, had died years before. Even though the elf-lord closed the door, Éowyn refused to move any farther into the room, staying by the elegantly carved doorway. Lothiriel sank exhausted into a large chair while Éomer stood beside her, leaning heavily on the chair yet not willing to sit down. Elladan stood to the side, one ear listening to what his brothers were doing in the other room Lothiriel, hating the horrible silence, looked up at the king of Rohan. "Éomer, why did you not want to put Faramir in the first room we came to?"

The king stared at the wall, thinking of the past. "It was our cousin Théodred's room." He glanced over at Éowyn, pale and tight-lipped. "The memories are too painful." As Éomer spoke, his gaze stayed on his sister. Though he longed to comfort her, he knew all too well her stages of grief. Her tears were broken only by periods of coldness when she shunned all help with a sharp tongue. The king's heart tightened. Only Faramir could comfort her then, his warm heart melting her cold one. If Faramir…if he died, Éomer didn't know if his sister could survive.

* * *

As Aragorn treated Faramir's back, Elrohir concentrated his healing powers on the Steward's internal injuries. The elf-lord frowned. He was worried more about the darkness that Pelatarn had used to keep Faramir alive. Having been dependent on the darkness for so long, the Steward's body had forgotten how to work for itself. Try as he might, Elrohir was barely able to keep up as vital organs began shutting down. 'Tir, help me do this, fight the darkness.' The elf felt Estel gently lay Faramir on his back. The king's presence joined him and together they tried to heal their brother.

In the darkness of his mind, Faramir let himself float away, holding onto life by a thread. Distantly he heard his brothers' calling, but he paid them no heed. Though Pelatarn was destroyed his evil remained and, with the Steward's protective walls crumbled to ruin, it had free rein. **The only escape is death,** whispered the darkness. **There is nothing for you in life. Your loved ones do not need you. You are a shell, there is no light. Light has fallen. Death is coming, do not fight. Do not fight. Let go. **'It is time.' Smiling, Faramir let go of his last connection with life. 'Good-bye.'

Elrohir's head jerked back as his healing power was thrown from Faramir's body. Seeing Estel's pale face, he realized that the same thing had happened to the king. 'What just happened?' Looking down at Faramir, Elrohir thought his heart would stop. His brother's battered chest was no longer moving. He wasn't breathing! "No, please." he whispered. The elf reached for a pulse. There was none. "NO!"

In the Queen's Room, Éowyn stiffened. Something was wrong, she felt it in her gut. Elladan turned his head toward the doorway, his face whitening as he felt his twin's jumbled feelings. Suddenly, Elrohir's cry of denial flew into the room. Its meaning was clear to everyone. Lothiriel shuddered as a sob tore from her throat; Éomer grabbed her hand, not so much to comfort Lothiriel as to help control his own grief. Elladan drew in a ragged breath and closed his eyes, trying to stop the tears.

Éowyn's face was blank. No it wasn't possible. 'He can't be dead. He can't be, there must be a mistake!' Throwing open the door, she ran into the other room. Aragorn was leaning over Faramir's still body, pushing on his brother's chest as he tried to restart the Steward's heart. Next to him, Elrohir had his hand hovering over Faramir's head struggling to pull his brother back from the edge of death. Without thinking, Éowyn rushed to her husband's side, cradling his head in her arms. "No, Faramir, don't leave me. Please, don't leave me!" Her tears fell onto his pale, lifeless face. Éowyn laid her head beside Faramir's, her voice a whisper. "Don't leave me to raise our child myself."

* * *

Yup, Evil Skittle definately took over there. Oh, and congratulations to those who guessed Eowyn was pregnant.


	19. Chapter 19

* * *

Death and relief was close, so close now. **This is the end**. Faramir was at the edge of the final precipice, ready to take the last step. All at once a tiny voice rang out, a child's voice.

Father Bird, Father Bird  
Sitting in the tree,  
Why do you cry so hard?  
Come and play with me!

Faramir paused. "Who is there?" The child only giggled, though it sounded a bit exasperated, as if Faramir was supposed to do something that he wasn't. Thinking, Faramir answered the giggle with the next line of the rhyme. 'Perhaps that is what it wants.'

Oh Little Bird, Little Bird,  
You do not understand.  
My little heart just hurts so much,  
I do not think I can.

But Father Bird, Father Bird,  
With you I want to play!  
The sun is shining, the grass is green,  
Oh what a lovely day!

Faramir sighed sadly. 'If only. If only I could.'

My Little Bird, Little Bird,  
I just do not know why.  
Surely there is someone else,  
Who is much better than I!

Though he could not see anyone, Faramir almost felt as if the child was smiling, puzzled.

But Father Bird, Father Bird,  
Why do you not see?  
I love you so, my Father Bird,  
And want to play with _thee_!

Suddenly Faramir's mind cleared. He looked up from the precipice, towards the illumination that was life. He heard Éowyn crying for him, begging him to return. But what caught his attention was the figure sitting in the field far from the cliff he stood upon. A child, head crowned with golden hair, looked up and smiled at him, grey eyes shining. Though he knew it was impossible, there was no doubt in his mind. This was _his_ child. The child that even now was growing in Éowyn's womb. The child he was abandoning by giving in to the darkness. The child who was grinning at him with a heart full of love. For him.

Laughing, Faramir returned the child's smile. _This_ was worth living for. Éowyn was worth living for, his child was worth living for. He turned fully towards life, and walked to the child. Kneeling, Faramir looked into its grey eyes that mirrored his own.

My Little Bird, dear Little Bird  
No longer am I sad,  
I will come and play with you,  
For your love has made me glad.

The child giggled again and reached out for Faramir. The Steward smiled and embraced the child… and returned to life.

* * *

Elrohir and Aragorn stopped their efforts to save their brother and stood back, hope lost. Tears freely flowed from Elrohir's eyes, but Aragorn just stood in shock. His brother was dead. Little Tir was dead. His eyes moved to Éowyn who still cradled Faramir's head, whispering his name. A widow after only two years of marriage.

Éowyn felt like she had died along with her husband. Never before could she understand why her mother had wasted away after Éomund's death. Now, in her own grief, she understood. Her hand rested on her husband's chest, on a heart that no longer beat. 'Why? Why did this happen?' "Faramir." Suddenly, Éowyn felt Faramir's chest move under her hand. Holding her breath she waited, knowing how likely it was that she was falsely hoping. Yet his chest moved again. Then again. He was breathing! "Faramir!"

Aragorn placed a hand on her shoulder, hating that she would not accept the truth. "Éowyn…" The king paused as he saw Faramir move. 'Was that…?' His grip tightened. It was! "Elrohir!" The elf looked sadly at his foster brother. "Elrohir, he is breathing!"

Elrohir's sharp eyes automatically moved to Faramir, then widened. He _was_ breathing! Kneeling next to his youngest brother, the elf focused his healing power. The darkness was gone! "Thank the Valar." Elrohir looked up as Elladan, Lothiriel, and Éomer entered the room, having heard Aragorn's hopeful claim. "He is alive. Somehow, he is alive."

At first there was only silence. Then relief filled the room. Elladan hugged his twin, Aragorn sat down on the bed before he toppled over as the adrenaline left him, and Lothiriel threw her arms around Éomer's neck, crying tears of happiness. Éomer held her tightly, hardly believing that it was over.

Éowyn smiled as she laid her arm lightly across her husband's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart and the rise and fall of his breath. Moving her other hand to touch her stomach, Éowyn smiled. 'We will be a family. All three of us. The darkness has lost.'

* * *

Happy! But that is not the end. 


	20. Chapter 20

* * *

Elrohir sat quietly at Faramir's bedside. He had ordered everyone, even Éowyn, to leave, not knowing what would happen when the Steward awoke. As the relief of realizing that his brother would live wore off, the elf-lord had remembered his training. He sighed inwardly, recalling one of his father's lessons.

**flashback**

Lord Elrond didn't look at his son, staring out at a waterfall instead. "Controlling thoughts and memories is one of the favorite tricks of dark practitioners, learned from Sauron himself." He paused and closed his eyes. "They are able to manipulate images into terrible things, things that would make an elf wish to sail West or give up hope altogether."

Elrohir could tell his father was lost in some memory, a haunting memory. "Is there no hope for them?"

Elrond opened his eyes and smiled wanly at the younger twin. "There is always hope. If they possess enough strength, are given enough love, given a reason to live… then the darkness will never survive." The smile faded. "But the memories of the attack will never truly leave, and sometimes there is nothing even the greatest healer can do."

**end flashback**

Turning his attention back to his brother, Elrohir saw that Faramir was waking up. "Tir?" The Steward groaned and Elrohir focused on drawing away some of the pain. "Tir, it is time to wake up."

Grey eyes fluttered open, then quickly closed again as sunlight hit them. "Put that light out first, please."

Elrohir smiled. 'Humor is good.' "I do not think I have the power to get rid of the sun, Tir. Just let your eyes get used to it. You have been in Rohan's dungeon for 17 days now."

Perhaps it was the wrong thing to say for Faramir tried to bolt upright, stopped only by his pain and Elrohir's hand. "How is Éowyn? Éomer? What are you doing here? Is Pelatarn…?" His eyes darkened so quickly that Elrohir grew uneasy.

"Pelatarn is dead. You finished him off completely. Éomer and Éowyn are fine, though Éomer is a little sore. As for me, I came with Elladan, Estel, your Uncle, and several companies of Gondorians and Rohirrim. Edoras is free."

Faramir closed his eyes tightly as the memories, all his memories good and bad, came back to him. They felt like physical pain and returned so fast that he barely bit back a groan. "Please, I want to see Éowyn."

Elrohir debated whether or not to actually do so. "Before I get her…I need to know how you are."

"You are the healer. You tell me."

'Always the uncooperative patient.' "Tir, after what you went through, the darkness that attacked you, I cannot just know if you are better or not. You will have to tell me."

Faramir looked straight at his brother. "I want to see Éowyn."

Elrohir stared back and saw Faramir's stubborn determination. He also saw the shadow behind the Steward's silver eyes. The darkness may have been defeated, but the effect of the evil was far from healed. "Very well." Elrohir left the room, shutting the door behind him.

When the door opened again, it was Éowyn who stepped through. Seeing her husband awake, the White Lady quickly sat in the chair next to his bed. She stroked his raven hair, not knowing what to say. Faramir looked up and for a moment they gazed into each other's eyes. The Steward bit his lip hesitantly. "Éowyn…" He didn't finish his sentence. Instead Éowyn leaned over and embraced him, her body shaking from released stress. Not caring how it hurt his wounds, Faramir pulled her tightly to him. The dark memories seemed to drain away as he held his wife. Perhaps, just perhaps, this nightmare was over.

* * *

"Time to wake up, Iri-wiri."

Lothiriel groaned and swatted at the voice before turning over. "Go'way."

"Is that any way to talk to your father?"

That fully woke her up. She quickly turned back and sat up in bed. "Da!" Prince Imrahil laughed and hugged his daughter. "I am so glad to see you! How are you, have you heard anything from Faramir?"

The Prince of Dol Amroth sat down on the bed. "I am fine, not a scratch as usual. Lord Elrohir told me that Faramir woke up for a bit, but is asleep again." His face grew serious. "How are you, Lothiriel? King Éomer told me how you saved his life. I know you have never killed a man before."

Lothiriel took a deep breath as she remembered slaying Mustayo. "I could not let him kill Éomer, Da. I could not."

Imrahil paused, seeing something in her eyes that he couldn't identify. Shaking his head the Prince bounced slightly on the large bed. "He certainly gave you the most comfortable room to nap in."

Lothiriel looked around and realized that she had fallen asleep in the Queen's Bedroom. "Indeed." She looked at her father. "How long was I asleep?"

"Only a few hours. It is nearly time for supper."

"It _is_ time for supper, my lord." They turned to the doorway. There stood Hild, one hand on her hip, the other holding little Sigel's hand. "King Éomer asked me to request your presence, Lothiriel, if you were awake."

Lothiriel smiled. "We will be right there, Hild, thank you."

* * *

A large table was set up on the grounds in front of the Golden Hall. The whole city, along with the Gondorian soldiers, gathered before the table. Everyone brought food to share to celebrate the liberation of Edoras. Éomer, now changed into his royal clothing, sat at the head of the table as he watched his people celebrate. Grimly he saw how few people there were. So many had been lost in the Great War and now this.

The king's thoughts were interrupted completely as his eyes caught movement from the Hall. Hild and Sigel led Prince Imrahil to the table, but it was Lothiriel who walked next to her father that caught Éomer's eye. She had changed into a Rohirrim-style dress of green velvet, a gold circlet brightly adorning her dark hair. Several of the older Rohirrim whispered among themselves that it was as if Morwen Steelsheen, wife of King Thengel, had returned to Rohan. As Lothiriel took the seat to the left of Éomer, she looked at him nervously, seeing the strange look on his face. "Hild found this in the Queen's bedroom and said I should wear it. Do you mind?"

Éomer was almost too stunned to answer, only managing a soft "No, not at all". 'She is the image of a Queen! If only…' Shaking his head, Éomer managed to clear his head. "Is Éowyn coming?"

Imrahil answered, not at all certain he liked how the young king was looking at his daughter. "We looked in on Faramir before we came out. He was asleep, and Éowyn as well. I thought it better to let her rest, as did Lady Hild."

"Mm-hmm." Éomer wasn't really surprised and had gone back to making quick glances at Lothiriel.

Though he thought she didn't notice, Lothiriel wasn't blind and punched the king lightly in the arm. "Stop looking at me and say something so that these poor people can eat."

Éomer gave a slight huff and stood, holding out his mug. The people grew silent and turned their attention to their king. "My people, once again we have been beset by dark enemies. And, with the help of our allies," he nodded at Aragorn who was on his right, "we have defeated them." The people clapped and cheered, raising their own mugs. "Our people who have died here have not died in vain. Let us remember this day: the day Edoras was freed!" More cheering and then the eating began. Éomer sat down and smiled at Lothiriel. "I hate speeches. I was never any good at them."

Lothiriel smiled back. "You did very well, Éomer. Anyway, I do not think your people care about the words as much as the meaning."

Next to his daughter, Imrahil was _definitely_ not liking how Lothiriel and Éomer were looking at each other. As he grumbled silently, the Prince felt someone tug on his sleeve. Looking down he saw little Sigel staring up at him. "May I help you, little one?"

Sigel scrunched up her nose as she tried to remember what her mother had said to tell Imrahil. "Did you know that King Éomer and Lothi shared a sweet-cake?" The little girl didn't know why her mother wanted her to tell this man that, but she didn't mind. She giggled as Imrahil made a funny-looking face.

The Prince, knowledgeable in the traditions of many lands, knew exactly what the sharing of the sweet-cakes meant. "They _what?_" Sigel rolled her eyes at the silly grown-up and was about to repeat herself when her mother called for her. Since Imrahil's attention had turned to his daughter, Sigel just shrugged and went back to Hild and Fréaláf. She wanted to eat another roll anyway.

Imrahil, on the other hand, was ready to make a certain king's _head_ roll. Lothiriel and Éomer, having caught the conversation, flinched at the Prince's steely glare. "Da, I can explain."

"I should hope so! You have known him for all of eight days!"

Éomer spoke up. "My lord, I can assure you that sharing the cake was completely innocent. I knew Lady Lothiriel did not know our customs and saw no harm in giving her some. There was nothing else to it." Lothiriel nodded in agreement, but was disappointed. She had almost hoped…no, it was better this way. Éomer would marry some maiden of Rohan, and she would return to Dol Amroth and marry some nobleman who spent half his time on the sea.

Being the far-sighted man that he was, Imrahil didn't miss the look on his daughter's face nor the slightly depressed glance that Éomer gave her as he spoke. "Then you have no romantic feelings for my daughter?"

The king of Rohan paused. 'No romantic feelings? Does the fact that my heart jumps whenever I think of her, whenever I see her, and whenever I hear a word that even slightly sounds like her name mean I have romantic feelings for her? Or perhaps the fact that I don't want to live without her? Without her smile, her fire, her support and friendship, I don't think I _can _live.'

Lothiriel tried not to frown as the pause lengthened. 'Why isn't he answering? Does it mean that…that he actually might love me?' Her heart tightened almost painfully. 'Does he love me as I know I love him?' She took a chance and discretely reached for Éomer's hand. Grabbing it tightly, she snuck a glance at the king of Rohan. 'Please let him feel the same.'

Éomer felt Lothiriel's hand in his and at once his mind was made up. Straightening, the king stared straight into Imrahil's eyes, not flinching at the Prince's cold gaze. "I am afraid I cannot say that is true. At the time I did not have any intentions, but now I would ask you for permission to make Lothiriel my bride and my queen. That is, if she agrees."

Lothiriel's eyes lit up and a grin spread across her face. "I most certainly do. Da, please, he is a good man, you could not ask for better."

"I could ask for someone in Dol Amroth who you have known for longer than a week!"

"Your nephew and Lady Éowyn fell in love in a week," interjected Aragorn who had been listening in. "and you gave your blessing to them."

As Imrahil turned his glare on his king, Éomer moved so that he could face the Prince better. "Prince Imrahil, I love Lothiriel and promise to care for her till the end of my days. I would also never completely separate her from her family and Dol Amroth. She will not be a prisoner here, but free to visit Gondor whenever she pleases as my grandmother Morwen did until her death." Lothiriel tried not to let her relief show. 'Very clever Éomer. Assuage his fear that I will end up as his sister did and mention existing relations to Gondor.'

Imrahil realized the same. He also saw the love in Lothiriel and Éomer's eyes as they looked at each other. "Very well. You have my permission and my blessing in this betrothal." His eyes narrowed at the king of Rohan. "But so help me Éomer, if you hurt my daughter you will find that I will conveniently forget that you are an allied king and you will wish never to have been born. Am I clear?"

As Éomer nodded, Lothiriel smiled and hugged her father. "Thank you, Da. I love you."

"I love you too, Iri-wiri."

At that Aragorn stood, his eyes sparkling. "And now is as good a time as any to announce this good news to lighten the hearts of the people. If I may?" With Éomer's permission, Aragorn cleared his throat and called the people to attention. "People of Rohan and Gondor, today is now more blessed than before! Éomer King of Rohan asks that Lothiriel Lady of Dol Amroth should be his wife, and she grants it full willing. Therefore they shall be trothplighted before you all. As Rohan gave her jewel to Gondor, so now does Gondor do likewise and give Rohan the jewel of the south!"

As the cheering grew to deafening proportions, Éomer turned Lothiriel's face and looked deep into her eyes. "I love you, Bright-eyes."

"I love you too." Smiling, the betrothed couple kissed. The cheers must have been heard in Far Harad.

* * *

Like you didn't see that coming. 


	21. Chapter 21

Last chapter! Though there is the epilogue after this. And if you're still wondering who dies, you'll have to keep reading.

* * *

A month had passed since the invasion of Edoras and the death of Pelatarn. The winter was mild like the years before, so many turned out to observe the wedding of King Éomer to the Lady Lothiriel on Midwinter's day. King Elessar and Queen Arwen arrived early, bearing a large amount of gifts for the happy couple. One of the happiest, and most surprising, events was the appearance of Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took the week before the wedding. The two hobbits had apparently decided to visit their friends in the South, with no knowledge of the events that were transpiring. Merry was especially distressed to have no wedding present for the couple and was seen often running around Edoras with Pippin, hoping to find the perfect gift.

The wedding went off without a hitch, and the radiant bride and bridegroom happily exchanged vows…and kisses. It is said that it was that day that Éomer acquired the name Éadig, Blessed, for it was the crowd's opinion that Lothiriel was more beautiful that day than even Queen Arwen.

Meanwhile Faramir continued to slowly heal from his wounds, both physical and mental. Though Elladan and Elrohir stayed in Edoras with him, Faramir found that the only one who could truly help him was Éowyn. Nightmares still plagued the Steward and at times he found himself suddenly lost in one of the twisted memories left by the darkness. Those times were truly scary for his family and friends, for his eyes would seem to be covered in shadow and his body would become rigid. Éowyn, though, could pull him out of the memory simply by whispering in his ear and touching his hand to her stomach which was beginning to bulge slightly.

Finally Éowyn decided that it would be better for all of them if she, Faramir, and the twins returned home to Ithilien. Éomer especially was saddened to see his sister and brother-by-marriage leave. The king of Rohan embraced his sister. "Journey well, and do not push yourself. I love you, Éowyn." Éowyn returned the same words before moving to say good-bye to Lothiriel. As she did this, Éomer gently pulled Faramir aside. The king couldn't help the twinge of guilt he felt as Faramir winced, his wounds still healing. "Can you forgive me, Faramir? For what happened here, for not doing as you asked?"

Faramir placed his pale hand on Éomer's shoulder. "First, I am glad you did not go through with what I asked or I would not be here. And there is nothing to forgive, none of this was your fault." The Steward attempted a smile though it didn't reach his eyes. "Trouble seems to follow me, and this apparently has followed me for many years. Éomer, you could have done nothing more than you did and I am honored to call you my brother."

Éomer smiled. "The honor is mine. My sister could not have chosen a better man for her husband."

Éowyn walked over to them, encircling her arm around Faramir's waist. "You speak truly, brother."

Lothiriel copied Éowyn's movement with her own husband. "Perhaps your next visit will be better. And we will try to be there for the birth of the baby. Until then."

* * *

Three and a half months later Faramir was sitting outside his wife's birthing room, trying to calm his nerves. Éowyn's time had come early, too early for Éomer and Lothiriel to arrive. Having heard tales of troubled births, Faramir feared what this meant for his wife and child. And for him, for he knew that if anything happened to them he would most likely not have the will to continue living.

Elladan and Elrohir, on the other hand, were not worried at all. Éowyn was strong and any child who could survive an attack of such darkness would be as strong as its parents. Elrohir, ever observant of his brother's health, watched his youngest brother from the other side of the room. The dark-haired elf leaned over to his twin, careful to keep his voice low. "This may be it."

Elladan knew what his brother was talking about. They had spoken of it before. It appeared to the twins that their foster brother had dramatically improved with each month of the pregnancy. Elrohir, as a healer, hypothesized that though a shadow of the darkness still had a hold on Faramir, it grew weaker and weaker as Faramir's love for Éowyn and the baby grew stronger. If Elrohir was right, the nightmare could soon be completely over.

Faramir winced as he heard his wife scream again. 'When will this be over? Please, Eru, keep my wife safe. May she and our child live through this.' At long last a new voice's screeching filled the room beyond the closed door. Faramir leapt to his feet and rushed forward, only his brothers keeping him from bursting into the room. It felt like eternity before the door opened and the mid-wife smiled and allowed Faramir to enter.

The Steward dashed into the room, only to freeze at the sight of his tired but glowing wife holding a bundle in her arms. Before Éowyn could speak, he had hurried forward and kissed her hard on the mouth. Breaking the contact, Faramir knelt by his wife's bedside and stared in awe at the little pink life Éowyn held. "Our daughter," he breathed softly. "She is beautiful."

Of course Éowyn agreed, but she was puzzled. "How did you know she was a girl? The mid-wife did not tell you."

Faramir shook his head. "No, she did not. I saw it. Months ago…when your love brought me back."

Somehow that did not surprise Éowyn who smiled and held the baby out to Faramir who was contentedly counting his daughter's little fingers. "Would you like to hold her?"

Faramir sucked in a breath. Suddenly he was all nerves. What if he dropped her? What if he didn't hold her right? Before he knew it, though, the babe was in his arms and he stood, gently rocking her. The little girl yawned and blinked her silver eyes at her father before falling fast asleep. And then Faramir did something that he had not done in nearly five months. He smiled, a real smile that reached his eyes. "She is beautiful," he turned his smile to Éowyn. "Like her mother. She will take after you."

Éowyn grinned; she didn't think she had ever been so happy in her life. "What should we name her? I believe you told me that you already had a name picked out."

Faramir gazed down at his tiny daughter, his eyes shining with love and pride. "Aewiel. My little bird."

He knelt again by Éowyn's side and they held the baby between them. "Aewiel. That is a beautiful name. Of course she needs a Rohirric name as well."

"Of course. Do you have something in mind?"

Éowyn smiled down at the new life they had created. "Léofa, for she is loved."

Faramir nodded. "And to remember that love conquers all darkness." He kissed Éowyn on the cheek and returned to staring at his daughter, his hope. His Little Bird.

* * *


	22. Epilogue

This takes place 81 years later. Yes, you read that right. 81 years later.

* * *

"Ada!" Faramir smiled as his Little Bird tightly embraced him. Lady Aewiel, a mother four times over, had come with her husband and children to celebrate the anniversary of the end of the War of the Ring.

"It is good to see you, Little Bird. We are glad you all could make it." Faramir smiled and embraced his son-by-law, a tall man with dark hair and silver eyes. "I hope your father has not been working you too hard, Eldarion."

The Prince-heir of Gondor returned the smile. "Well, he allowed me to leave at least."

"I am glad. Now where are my grandchildren who I never get to see?"

Aewiel and Eldarion's four children, ages 33, 32, 29, and 27, all greeted their grandfather warmly. The oldest, a boy, rolled his eyes. "What do you mean you never see us? We are in Emyn Arnen at least once every month if not more."

Faramir playfully punched him in the arm. "Where is the respect you are supposed to show to your elders? Go now, all of you. Your cousins are all inside waiting for you in the sitting room."

As the two boys and two girls headed through the house Faramir, Aewiel, and Eldarion walked slowly behind them. Aewiel held tightly to her father's arm, saddened by the slight tremble she felt in his once strong body. This was one of the reasons Aewiel had returned; it was obvious to everyone that the former Steward was nearing his end. The healers claimed it was his old battle-wounds acting up, but Aewiel and her siblings guessed that it had more to do with Lady Éowyn nearing her own death. Éowyn had been blessed with a long life for one of her people, and with Faramir fading so quickly for one of his blood many believed that one just would not live without the other.

* * *

The three entered the sitting room to find Aewiel's four children already chattering with their seven cousins. Aewiel helped Faramir sit on the couch next to Éowyn who in her old age no longer had the strength to walk. The elderly couple quickly laced their hands together and kissed, bringing a smile to their four children. Faramir settled back, watching each member of his family.

Aewiel, his golden-haired Little Bird, had happily married her best friend Eldarion at a fairly young age. Both Faramir and Estel had been delighted to have their oldest children marry. Four children had soon followed to the joy of the new grandparents.

Faramir's eyes settled on his oldest son, who had been the Steward of Gondor for some time. Elboron took after his mother in looks and his father in temper. He also took after both parents with his stubbornness. Elboron had shocked everyone when he declared that he was going to marry Inzilrûn, a Haradric princess of Númenórean descent. When everyone from Éowyn and Aragorn to the princess's entire clan objected, Elboron and Inzilrûn eloped. Only Faramir's temperance stopped a war from breaking out. Despite the rocky start, the entire family grew to love the gentle Inzilrûn and were delighted when three children blessed the marriage.

A shriek followed by laughter interrupted Faramir's thoughts. He looked up to see Elboron's only girl, a 27 year old beauty, jumping around trying to get a frog out of her dark hair. Faramir didn't even have to look to know who was responsible, though the fact that the girl was glaring at her uncles would have given it away anyway. The twins, Elhísen and Eláston, were too much like Elladan and Elrohir for their own good. Both dark-haired and silver-eyed, the twins looked like their father with the spirit of mother mixing nicely with all the pranks Elladan and Elrohir had taught them.

Actually Faramir felt sometimes that his twins were more alike than even Elladan and Elrohir. Both were healers and very smart, learning much from the books left to them by Elrond, the grandfather they never knew. They had even married identical twins! The golden-haired daughters of Naicalle and Norien of Lossarnach, friends of Faramir and Éowyn, were the only ones able to handle their husbands at times. Elhísen and his wife, Halla, were blessed (or cursed as Eláston like to tease) with twins of their own, though one was a girl and the other a boy. Eláston and Harith had a girl and boy also, though of different ages.

Seeing everyone together accentuated the absence of those who were missing. Hearing Éowyn sigh sadly, Faramir knew she was thinking the same. A glance to the corner of the room pained the empty spot in his heart, seeing the harp that their youngest daughter used to play continuously. Dark-haired Lanthiril had mirrored her father's love of history and lore, and throughout her whole life she had found happiness in everything Eru blessed her with. At age eight, Lanthiril had contracted the crimson fever which left her blind and weak. Despite this she was always happy, quietly listening to the world around her. Faramir had found it a joy to read books to her and tell stories of far-off adventures that his precious daughter could never go on. At night the entire family would listen to her play the harp, her fingers seeing what her eyes did not. Times were pleasant then.

Those times had ended 23 years before when a virulent influenza swept through Emyn Arnen, killing Lanthiril and Elhísen's three-year old daughter. The family had grieved, especially Elhísen who lost both his little sister and his only child at the same time. Time had healed the loss some, particularly with the birth of Elhísen's twins, but there was still a sharp pang whenever the two were mentioned.

Faramir squeezed Éowyn's hand who squeezed his right back. The former Steward drank in every detail of his beloved wife's face. Though her skin was wrinkled and her hair was white, Faramir didn't think she could be any more beautiful. Life had been good to them. Seldom had Faramir been called to war and he was allowed to spend his time as he wished: with his beloved wife and wonderful children. 'Yes, it has been a good life.'

* * *

Three days later King Elessar and Queen Arwen arrived for the celebration, as did Elladan, Elrohir, Glorfindel, and Eluial. Faramir was extremely glad to see his brothers and friends; the old Steward knew it was almost time for him to lay down his life in the tradition of his forefathers.

It pained the elves to see Faramir limping from old wounds, his hair streaked with white. All four could remember the frightened little boy taken into Lord Elrond's care so many years before. That boy had grown into a man blessed with five children and twelve grandchildren.

Estel, Elladan, and Elrohir particularly spent a lot of time with their brother. All knew the end was coming and wished to be with Faramir as much as possible. Though the deaths of Éomer and Lothiriel a few years before had prepared them for grief, they knew that no amount of preparation would be able to sooth their heartache.

The evening after the celebration, everyone gathered in the sitting room. Laughter and chitchat filled the air as the family reminisced about the day and the War that it signified. As the sun set everyone turned to the youngest grandchild, Eláston's son. For eleven years it had been tradition for each grandchild from oldest to youngest to ask for a specific story to be told. This year it was young Peregrin's turn.

Peregrin, 21 years old and named for a certain hobbit, smiled at Faramir. He had thought long and hard about what story he wanted and now knew exactly what it was. "Grandfather, tell us about you."

Faramir sat back in his chair and raised his eyebrow. "During the war?"

The young man shook his head. "No, about you. Last year we heard about Grandmother. I want to know your story."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

Faramir sipped his drink and looked around at his family. Estel, Arwen, Elladan, Elrohir, Glorfindel, and Eluial. Éowyn, Aewiel, Eldarion, Elboron, Inzilrûn, Eláston, Elhísen, Halla, and Harith. All his grandchildren. He smiled. "Very well. My earliest memory is the death of my mother. That was when my father, Denethor, began to change…"

Night fell and all went to bed after a round of hugs, kisses, and 'I love you's.' Éowyn gently wrapped her arms around her husband as they lay in bad, careful of the old wounds that were paining him more and more. "Faramir."

"Hmmm?"

The once golden-haired lady nestled closer to Faramir. "It has been good, has it not? Our lives."

He kissed her forehead and held her to him. "It has been very good."

"Do you have any regrets?"

Faramir thought back throughout his life. So much heartache, yet so much love. "Nay, there are no regrets min léof. Not one."

Éowyn laid her head on his chest. "I love you, Faramir."

"I love you too, Éowyn."

It was Estel that found them the next morning, their arms still locked around each other. Their spirits had left the boundaries of the world together, as the king knew they would have wanted it. The whole of Gondor grieved their deaths, as did Rohan under King Elfwine.

Faramir and Éowyn were buried together, for no one could separate their bodies. They were laid beside Lanthiril and their granddaughter in the Tomb of the Stewards in Emyn Arnen. No eyes were dry that day.

* * *

Years later, after the deaths of Estel and Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir took to the sea with Glorfindel and Eluial. They traveled to Valinor and were reunited with their parents, Elrond and Celebrían. After the tale was told of his foster sons' last years, Elrond removed himself from his family to stand beside the sea. As the tears clouded his eyes, he smiled at the memory of the boys who had become his beloved sons. _Until we meet again, my sons. Until we meet again._

* * *

sniff. sniff. I think I'm going to cry now. I can't believe it's over! I was planning on making some prequels focusing on Elrond, but I just don't have the time right now. Perhaps someday... I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Thank you for being so wonderful! 


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